THE    MAP    OF    LIFE 


THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 


CONDUCT  AND  CHARACTER 


1  La  vie  n'est  pas  un  plaisir  ni  une  douleur, 
mais  une  affaire  grave  dont  nous  sommes 
charges,  et  qu'il  faut  conduire  et  terminer 
a  notre  honneur '  TOCQUEVILLE 


LONGMANS,    GREEN,    AND    CO, 

91  AND  93  FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK 

LONDON  AND  BOMBAY 

1904 
All   rights    reserved 


Copyright,  1899,  by 
LONGMANS,  GREEN,  AND  CO. 


Att  rights  reserved, 

FIRST  EDITION,  OCTOBER,  1899. 
REPRINT*D,  NOVEMBER,  1899,  AND  JANUARY,  1900. 

SEPTEMBER,  1900. 

FEBRUARY  AND  AUGUST,  1901. 

JUNK,  190*.     AUGUST,  1903. 

JULY,  1904 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  I 

PAGK 

How  far  reasoning  on  happiness  is  of  any  use     ...  1 

The  arguments  of  the  Determinist  .....  2 

The  arguments  for  free  will         ....  8 

Securus  judicat  orbis  terrarum 5 


CHAPTER  II 

Happiness  a  condition  of  mind  and  often  confused  with 

the  means  of  attaining  it 7 

Circumstances  and  character  contribute  to  it  in  different 

degrees 7 

Religion,  Stoicism,  and  Eastern  nations  seek  it  mainly  by 

acting  on  disposition 7 

Sensational  philosophies  and  industrial  and  progressive 

nations  seek  it  chiefly  in  improved  circumstances  .  8 

English  character 8 

Action  of  the  body  on  happiness 10 

Influence  of  predispositions  in  reasonings  on  life  .  .  12 

Promotion  of  health  by  legislation,  fashion  and  self-culture  12 

Slight  causes  of  life  failures 14 

Effects  of  sanitary  reform 14 

Diminished  disease  does  not  always  imply  a  higher  level  of 

health  15 


2086725 


vi  CONTENTS 


Two  causes  depressing  health  ......  16 

Encroachments  on  liberty  in  sanitary  legislation         .        .  16 
Sanitary  education  —  its  chief  articles  —  its  possible  exaggera- 

tion       ..........  17 

Constant  thought  about  health  not  the  way  to  attain  it       .  18 


CHAPTER  III 

Some  general  rules  of  happiness — 1.  A  life  full  of  work. — 

Happiness  should  not  be  the  main  object  of  pursuit     .          19 
Carlyle  on  Ennui 20 

2.  Aim  rather  at  avoiding  suffering  than  attaining  pleasure      21 

3.  The  greatest  pleasures  and  pains  in  spheres  accessible  to 

all 22 

4.  Importance  and  difficulty  of  realising  our  blessings  while 
they  last 24 

Comparison  and  contrast 26 

Content  not  the  quality  of  progressive  societies       .        .  27 
The  problem  of  balancing  content  and  the  desire  for  pro- 
gress           28 

What  civilisation  can  do  for  happiness    ....  28 


CHAPTER  IV 

The  relation  of  morals  to  happiness. — The  Utilitarian  justi- 
fication of  virtue  insufficient  ......  30 

Power  of  man  to  aim  at  something  different  from  and  higher 
than  happiness  .  .  .  •  .  .  .  .  .  32 

General  coincidence  of  duty  and  happiness         ...      33 

The  creation  of  unselfish  interests  one  of  the  chief  elements 
of  happiness 34 

Burke  on  a  well-ordered  life         .        .        .        .        .        .35 

Improvement  of  character  more  within  our  power  than 
improvement  of  intellect 36 

High  moral  qualities  often  go  with  low  intellectual  power     .       36 


CONTENTS  vii 


Dangers  attaching  to  the  unselfish  side  of  our  nature.  — 
Active   charity   personally  supervised   least  subject   to 
abuse     ..........          37 

Disproportioned  compassion        .....         .88 

Treatment  of  animals  41 


CHAPTER  V 

Changes  of  morals  chiefly  in  the  proportionate  value  at- 
tached to  different  virtues 44 

Military,  civic,  and  intellectual  virtues    ....  44 

The  mediaeval  type 45 

Modifications  introduced  by  Protestantism      ...  47 

Bossuet  and  Louis  XIV 48 

Persecution. — Operations  at  childbirth. — Usury      .        .  50 
Every  great  religion  and  philosophic  system  produces  or 

favours  a  distinct  moral  type 51 

Variations  in  moral  judgments         .  51 
Complexity  of  moral  influences  of  modern  times. — The  in- 
dustrial type 53 

Qualified  by  other  influences 54 

Unnecessary  suffering 57 

Goethe's  exposition  of  modern  morals      ....  58 

Morals  hitherto  too  much  treated  negatively       ...  59 

Possibility  of  an  over-sensitive  conscience        ...  60 

Increased  sense  of  the  obligations  of  an  active  life      .        .  61 


CHAPTER  VI 

In  the  guidance  of  life  action  more  important  than  pure 

reasoning       .........  62 

The  enforcement  of  active  duty  now  specially  needed          .  62 

Temptations  to  luxurious  idleness 63 

Rectification  of  false  ideals. — The  conqueror       ...  64 

The  luxury  of  ostentation 64 

Glorification  of  the  demi-monde  .  66 


CONTENTS 

• 

PAGE 

Study  of  ideals 67 

The  human  mind  more  capable  of  distinguishing  right 

from  wrong  than  of  measuring  merit  and  demerit  .  67 

Fallibility  of  moral  judgments         .....  68 

Rules  for  moral  judgment 73 


CHAPTER  VII 

The  school  of  Rousseau  considers  man  by  nature  wholly 

good 76 

Other  schools  maintain  that  he  is  absolutely  depraved       .  76 
Exaggerations  of  these  schools         .....  78 
The  restraining  conscience  distinctively  human. — Compari- 
son with  the  animals 79 

Reality  of  human  depravity. — Illustrated  by  war    .        .  81 
Large  amount  of  pure  malevolence. — Political  crime. — The 

press          ..........  83 

Mendacity  in  finance 85 

The  sane  view  of  human  character       .....  86 
We  learn  with  age  to  value  restraints,  to  expect  moderately 

and  value  compromise 86 


CHAPTER  VIII 

Moral  compromise  a  necessity  in  life. — Statement  of  New- 
man    88 

Impossibility  of  acting  on  it 88 

Moral  considerations  though  the  highest  must  not  absorb 

all  others 90 

Truthfulness — cases  in  which  it  may  be  departed  from   .  91 

Moral  compromise  in  war 

War  necessarily  stimulates  the  malevolent  passions  and 
practises  deception         ......          92 

Rights  of  war  in  early  stages  of  civilisation          .        .      93 
Distinction  between  Greeks  and  Barbarians  94 


CONTENTS 


IX 

PAGE 


Roman  moralists  insisted  on  just  causes  of  war  and  on 

formal  declaration 95 

Treatment  of  prisoners. — Combatants  and  non-com- 
batants      95 

Treatment  of  private  property 96 

Lawful  and  unlawful  methods  of  conducting  war     .  96 
Abdication  by  the  soldier  of  private  judgment  and  free 

will 98 

Distinctions  and  compromises 99 

Cases  in  which  the  military  oath  may  be  broken. — 

Illegal  orders 100 

Violation  of  religious  obligations. — The  Sepoy  mutiny  101 

The  Italian  conscript. — Fenians  in  the  British  army    .  104 

CHAPTER  IX 

Moral  compromise  in  the  law 

What  advocates  may  and  may  not  do        ...  108 

Inevitable  temptations  of  the  profession       .        .        .  109 

Its  condemnation  by  Swift,  Arnold,  Macaulay,  Bentham  109 

Its  defence  by  Paley,  Johnson,  Basil  Montagu          .  110 
How  far  a  lawyer  may  support  a  bad  case. — St.  Thomas 

Aquinas  and  Catholic  casuists Ill 

Sir  Matthew  Hale. — General  custom  in  England       .  113 
Distinction  between  the  etiquette  of  prosecution  and 

of  defence 113 

The  case  of  Courvoisier 114 

Statement  of  Lord  Brougham 115 

The  license  of  cross-examination. — Technicalities  de- 
feating justice 116 

Advantage  of  trial  by  jury    ......  119 

Necessity  of  the  profession  of  advocate      .        .        .  119 

Moral  compromise  in  politics 

Necessity  of  party 120 

How  far  conscientious  differences  should  impair  party 

allegiance 121 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Lines  of  conduct  adopted  when  such  differences  arit;e  121 

Parliamentary  obstruction 123 

Moral  difficulties  inseparable  from  party  .        .        .  124 
Evil  of  extreme  view  of  party  allegiance. — Government 

and  the  Opposition 125 

Relations  of  members  to  their  constituents       .        .  127 

Votes  given  without  adequate  knowledge      .        .        .  131 

Diminished  power  of  the  private  member         .        .  134 


CHAPTER  X 

THE     STATESMAN 

Duty  of  a  statesman  when  the  interests  and  wishes  of  his 

nation  conflict Jii6 

Nature  and  extent  of  political  trusteeship        .        .        .  137 

Temperance  questions 138 

Legitimate  and  illegitimate  time-serving          .        .        .  141 

Education  questions 141 

Inconsistency  in  politics — how  far  it  should  be  condemned  147 
The  conduct  of  Peel  in  1829  and  1845          .        .         .        .148 

The  conduct  of  Disraeli  in  1867 149 

Different  degrees  of  weight  to  be  attached  to  party  con- 
siderations           151 

Temptations  to  war 153 

Temptations  of  aristocratic  and  of    democratic  govern- 
ments          155 

Necessity  of  assimilating  legislation         ....  157 

Legislation  violating  contracts. — Irish  land  legislation       .  158 

Questions  forced  into  prominence  for  party  objects          .  164 
The  judgment  of  public  servants  who  have   committed 

indefensible  acts 165 

The  French  coup  d'tiat  of  1851 166 

Judgments  passed  upon  it        ...        .        .        .  177 

Probable  multiplication  of  coups  d/Hat        ....  182 

Governor  Eyre .        .  184 

The  Jameson  raid         .  185 


CONTENTS  xj 

FASX 

How  statesmen  should  deal  with  political  misdeeds     .        .  190 
The  standard  of  international  morals — questions  connected 

with  it 191 

The  ethics  of  annexation 195 

Political  morals  and  public  opinion 196 

CHAPTER  XI 

Moral  compromise  in  the  Church 

Difficulties  of  reconciling  old  formularies  with  changed 

beliefs 198 

Cause  of  some  great  revolutions  of  belief. — The  Coper- 

nican  system. — Discovery  of  Newton      .        .        .  198 

The  antiquity  of  the  world,  of  death,  and  of  man         .  200 

The  Darwinian  theory 201 

Comparative  mythology. — Biblical    criticism. — Scien- 
tific habits  of  thought        .        .        .        .        .        .201 

General  incorporation  of  new  ideas  into  the  Church  204 

Growth  of  the  sacerdotal  spirit 204 

The  two  theories  of  the  Reformation         .        .        .  205 

Modern  Ritualism 210 

Its  various  elements  of  attraction      ....  211 

Diversity  of  teaching  has  not  enfeebled  the  Church     .  213 
Its  literary  activity. — Proofs  that  the  Church  is  in 

touch  with  educated  laymen 214 

Its  political  influence — how  far  this  is  a  test  of  vitality  218 

Its  influence  on  education          .....  219 

Its  spiritual  influence 220 

How  far  clergymen  who  dissent  from  parts  of  its 

theology  can  remain  within  it        ....  221 
Newman  on  a  Latitudinarian  establishment  .       .        .  223 
Obligations  imposed  on  the  clergy  by  the  fact  of  Estab- 
lishment            224 

Attitude  of  laymen  towards  the  Church        .        .        .  225 

Increasing  sense  of  the  relativity  of  belief        .        .  226 

This  tendency  strengthens  with  age      ....  227 

The  conflict  between  belief  and  scepticism        .        .  229 


xii  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Power  of  religion  to  undergo  transformation        .        .  229 

Probable  influence  of  the  sacerdotal  spirit  on  the  Church  231 

CHAPTER  XII 

THE  MANAGEMENT  OF  CHAEACTEE 

A  sound  judgment  of  our  own  characters  essential  to  moral 

improvement 285 

Analogies  between  character  and  taste  ....  236 
The  strongest  desire  generally  prevails,  but  desires  may  b« 

modified 238 

Passions  and  habits 239 

Exaggerated  regard  for  the  future. — A  happy  childhood  .  239 

Choice  of  pleasures. — Athletic  games  ....  240 

The  intellectual  pleasures 242 

Their  tendency  to  enhance  other  pleasures. — Importance  of 

specialisation 243 

And  of  judicious  selection 243 

Education  may  act  specially  on  the  desires  or  on  the  will.  245 

Modern  education  and  tendencies  of  the  former  kind  .  .  245 

Old  Catholic  training  mainly  of  the  will. — Its  effects  .  247 

Anglo-Saxon  types  in  the  seventeenth  century  .  .  .  248 

Capriciousness  of  will  power — heroism  often  succumbs  to  vice  249 

Courage — its  varieties  and  inconsistencies  ....  250 
The  circumstances  of  life  the  school  of  will.— Its  place  in 

character 251 

Dangers  of  an  early  competence. — Choice  of  work       .        .  252 

Choice  of  friends. — Effect  of  early  friendship  on  character  254 

Mastery  of  will  over  thoughts. — Its  intellectual  importance  255 

Its  importance  in  moral  culture        ...        .        .        .  255 

Great  difference  among  men  in  this  respect  .  .  .  256 

Means  of  governing  thought 258 

The  dream  power — its  great  place  in  life  ....  258 

Especially  in  the  early  stages  of  humanity  .  .  .  261 

Moral  safety  valves — danger  of  inventing  unreal  crimes  .  262 

Character  of  the  English  gentleman  ....  266 

Different  ways  of  treating  temptation  .....  266 


CONTENTS  xiii 
CHAPTER  XIII 

MONEY 

PAGE 

Henry  Taylor  on  its  relation  to  character  .  .  .  268 

Difference  between  real  and  professed  beliefs  about  money  268 

Its  relation  to  happiness  in  different  grades  of  life  .  .  269 

The  cost  of  pleasures 275 

Lives  of  the  millionaires 281 

Leaders  of  Society 284 

The  great  speculator 287 

Expenditure  in  charity. — Rules  for  regulating  it  .  .  288 
Advantages  and  disadvantages  of  a  large  very  wealthy  class 

in  a  nation 292 

Directions  in  which  philanthropic  expenditure  may  be  best 

turned 296 

CHAPTER  XIV 

MARRIAGE 

Its  importance  and  the  motives  that  lead  to  it    .        .        .  300 

The  moral  and  intellectual  qualities  it  specially  demands .  302 

Duty  to  the  unborn. — Improvident  marriages     .        .        .  305 

The  doctrine  of  heredity  and  its  consequences          .        .  306 

Religious  celibacy 808 

Marriages  of  dissimilar  types  often  peculiarly  happy       .  309 

Marriages  resulting  from  a  common  weakness    .        .        .  810 

Independent  spheres  in  marriage. — Effect  on  character  .  311 

The  age  of  marriage 312 

Increased  independence  of  women 314 

CHAPTER  XV 

SUCCESS 

Success  depends  more  on  character  than  on  intellect  .  .  316 
Especially  that  accessible  to  most  men  and  most  conducive 

to  happiness 317 


XIV 


CONTENTS 


PAQK 

Strength  of  will,  tact  and  judgment. — Not  always  joined  .  317 

Their  combination  a  great  element  of  success  .        .        .  318 

Good  nature 319 

Tact :  its  nature  and  its  importance         ....  320 

Its  intellectual  and  moral  affinities 323 

Value  of  good  society  in  cultivating  it. — Newman's  descrip- 
tion of  a  gentleman 324 

Disparities  between  merit  and  success         ....  326 

Success  not  universally  desired 326 


CHAPTER  XVI 

TIME 

Rebellion  of  human  nature  against  the  essential  conditions 

of  life .328 

Time  '  the  stuff  of  life  ' 330 

Various  ways  of  treating  it 330 

Increased  intensity  of  life 331 

Sleep 332 

Apparent  inequalities  of  time 335 

The  tenure  of  life  not  too  short 337 

Old  age 341 

The  growing  love  of  rest. — How  time  should  b«  regarded  .  841 

CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  END 

Death  terrible  chiefly  through  its  accessories               .*       .  343 

Pagan  and  Christian  ideas  about  it           ....  344 

Premature  death 349 

How  easily  the  fear  of  death  is  overcome         .        .        .  351 

The  true  way  of  regarding  it 852 


THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 


CHAPTER  I 

of  the  first  questions  that  must  naturally  occur 
to  every  writer  who  deals  with  the  subject  of  this  book 
is,  what  influence  mere  discussion  and  reasoning  can 
have  in  promoting  the  happiness  of  men.  The  circum- 
stances of  our  lives  and  the  dispositions  of  our  cha- 
racters mainly  determine  the  measure  of  happiness  we 
enjoy,  and  mere  argument  about  the  causes  of  happi- 
ness and  unhappiness  can  do  little  to  affect  them.  It 
is  impossible  to  read  the  many  books  that  have  been 
written  on  these  subjects  without  feeling  how  largely 
they  consist  of  mere  sounding  generalities  which  the 
smallest  experience  shows  to  be  perfectly  impotent  in 
the  face  of  some  real  and  acute  sorrow,  and  it  is  equally 
impossible  to  obtain  any  serious  knowledge  of  the  world 
without  perceiving  that  a  large  proportion  of  the  hap- 
piest lives  and  characters  are  to  be  found  where  intro- 
spection, self-analysis  and  reasonings  about  the  good 
and  evil  of  life  hold  the  smallest  place.  Happiness, 
indeed,  like  health,  is  one  of  the  things  of  which  men 
rarely  think  except  when  it  is  impaired,  and  much  that 
has  been  written  on  the  subject  has  been  written  under 
the  stress  of  some  great  depression.  Such  writers  are 


2  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

like  the  man  in  Hogarth's  picture  occupying  himself  in 
the  debtors'  prison  with  plans  for  the  payment  of  the 
National  Debt.  There  are  moments  when  all  of  us  feel 
the  force  of  the  words  of  Voltaire  :  '  Travaillons  sans 
raisonner,  c'est  le  seul  moyen  de  rendre  la  vie  support- 
able/ 

That  there  is  much  truth  in  such  considerations  is 
incontestable,  and  it  is  only  within  a  restricted  sphere 
that  the  province  of  reasoning  extends.  Man  comes 
into  the  world  with  mental  and  moral  characteristics 
which  he  can  only  very  imperfectly  influence,  and  a 
large  proportion  of  the  external  circumstances  of  his 
life  lie  wholly  or  mainly  beyond  his  control.  At  the 
same  time,  every  one  recognises  the  power  of  skill,  in- 
dustry and  perseverance  to  modify  surrounding  cir- 
cumstances ;  the  power  of  temperance  and  prudence  to 
strengthen  a  naturally  weak  constitution,  prolong  life, 
and  diminish  the  chances  of  disease  ;  the  power  of  edu- 
cation and  private  study  to  develop,  sharpen  and  em- 
ploy to  the  best  advantage  our  intellectual  faculties. 
Every  one  also  recognises  how  large  a  part  of  the  un- 
happiness  of  most  men  may  be  directly  traced  to  their 
own  voluntary  and  deliberate  acts.  The  power  each 
man  possesses  in  the  education  and  management  of  his 
character,  and  especially  in  the  cultivation  of  the  dis- 
positions and  tendencies  which  most  largely  contribute 
to  happiness,  is  less  recognised  and  is  perhaps  less  ex- 
tensive, but  it  is  not  less  real. 

The  eternal  question  of  free  will  and  determinism 
here  naturally  meets  us,  but  on  such  a  subject  it  is  idle 
to  suppose  that  a  modern  writer  can  do  more  than  de- 
fine the  question  and  state  his  own  side.  The  Deter- 


THE  FREE  WILL  CONTROVERSY  g 

minist  says  that  the  real  question  is  not  whether  a  man 
can  do  what  he  desires,  but  whether  he  can  do  what  he 
does  not  desire  ;  whether  the  will  can  act  without  a  mo- 
tive ;  whether  that  motive  can  in  the  last  analysis  be 
other  than  the  strongest  pleasure.  The  illusion  of  free 
will,  he  maintains,  is  only  due  to  the  conflict  of  our 
motives.  Under  many  forms  and  disguises  pleasure 
and  pain  have  an  absolute  empire  over  conduct.  The 
will  is  nothing  more  than  the  last  and  strongest  desire  ; 
or  it  is  like  a  piece  of  iron  surrounded  by  magnets  and 
necessarily  drawn  by  the  most  powerful ;  or  (as  has  been 
ingeniously  imagined)  like  a  weathercock,  conscious  of 
its  own  motion,  but  not  conscious  of  the  winds  that  are 
moving  it.  The  law  of  compulsory  causation  applies  to 
the  world  of  mind  as  truly  as  to  the  world  of  matter. 
Heredity  and  Circumstance  make  us  what  we  are.  Our 
actions  are  the  inevitable  result  of  the  mental  and  moral 
constitutions  with  which  we  came  into  the  world,  ope- 
rated on  by  external  influences. 

The  supporters  of  free  will,  on  the  other  hand,  main- 
tain that  it  is  a  fact  of  consciousness  that  there  is  a  clear 
distinction  between  the  Will  and  the  Desires,  and  that 
although  they  are  closely  connected  no  sound  analysis 
will  confuse  them.  Coleridge  ingeniously  compared 
their  relations  to  'the  co-instantaneous  yet  reciprocal 
action  of  the  air  and  the  vital  energy  of  the  lungs  in 
breathing.' 1  If  the  will  is  powerfully  acted  on  by  the 
desires,  it  has  also  in  its  turn  a  power  of  acting  upon 
them,  and  it  is  not  a  mere  slave  to  pleasure  and  pain. 
The  supporters  of  this  view  maintain  that  it  is  a  fact  of 


1  Aids  to  Reflection,  p.  68. 


4  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

the  plainest  consciousness  that  we  can  do  things  which 
we  do  not  like  ;  that  we  can  suspend  the  force  of  im- 
perious desires,  resist  the  bias  of  our  nature,  pursue  for 
the  sake  of  duty  the  course  which  gives  least  pleasure 
without  deriving  or  expecting  from  it  any  pleasure,  and 
select  at  a  given  moment  between  alternate  courses. 
They  maintain  that  when  various  motives  pass  before 
the  mind,  the  mind  retains  a  power  of  choosing  and 
judging,  of  accepting  and  rejecting  ;  that  it  can  by 
force  of  reason  or  by  force  of  imagination  bring  one 
motive  into  prominence,  concentrating  its  attention  on 
it  and  thus  intensifying  its  power  ;  that  it  has  a  corre- 
sponding power  of  resisting  other  motives,  driving  them 
into  the  background  and  thus  gradually  diminishing 
their  force  ;  that  the  will  itself  becomes  stronger  by  ex- 
ercise, as  the  desires  do  by  indulgence.  The  conflict 
between  the  will  and  the  desires,  the  reality  of  self- 
restraint  and  the  power  of  Will  to  modify  character,  are 
among  the  most  familiar  facts  of  moral  life.  In  the 
words  of  Burke,  '  It  is  the  prerogative  of  man  to  be  in 
a  great  degree  a  creature  of  his  own  making.'  There 
are  men  whose  whole  lives  are  spent  in  willing  one  thing 
and  desiring  the  opposite,  and  all  morality  depends 
upon  the  supposition  that  we  have  at  least  some  free- 
dom of  choice  between  good  and  evil.  *  I  ought/  as 
Kant  says,  necessarily  implies  '  I  can.'  The  feeling  of 
moral  responsibility  is  an  essential  part  of  healthy  and 
developed  human  nature,  and  it  inevitably  presupposes 
free  will.  The  best  argument  in  its  favour  is  that  it  is 
impossible  really  to  disbelieve  it.  No  human  being  can 
prevent  himself  from  viewing  certain  acts  with  an  in- 
dignation, shame,  remorse,  resentment,  gratitude,  en- 


THE  CONSENSUS  OF  MANKIND  5 

thusiasm,  praise  or  blame,  which  would  be  perfectly 
unmeaning  and  irrational  if  these  acts  could  not  have 
been  avoided.  "We  can  have  no  higher  evidence  on  the 
subject  than  is  derived  from  this  fact.  It  is  impossible 
to  explain  the  mystery  of  free  will,  but  until  a  man 
ceases  to  feel  these  emotions  he  has  not  succeeded  in 
disbelieving  in  it.  The  feelings  of  all  men  and  the 
vocabularies  of  all  languages  attest  the  universality  of 
the  belief. 

Newman,  in  a  well-known  passage  in  his  '  Apologia, ' 
describes  the  immense  effect  which  the  sentence  of  Au- 
gustine, '  Securus  judicat  orbis  terrarum,'  had  upon  his 
opinions  in  determining  him  to  embrace  the  Church  of 
Rome.  The  force  of  this  consideration  in  relation  to 
the  subject  to  which  Dr.  Newman  refers  does  not  ap- 
pear to  have  great  weight.  It  means  only  that  at  a 
time  when  the  Christian  Church  included  but  a  small 
fraction  of  the  human  race  ;  when  all  questions  of  or- 
thodoxy or  the  reverse  were  practically  in  the  hands  of 
the  priesthood  ;  when  ignorance,  credulity  and  super- 
stition were  at  their  height  and  the  habits  of  indepen- 
dence and  impartiality  of  judgment  running  very  low  ; 
and  when  every  kind  of  violent  persecution  was  directed 
against  those  who  dissented  from  the  prevailing  dogmas, 
— certain  councils  of  priests  found  it  possible  to  attain 
unanimity  on  such  questions  as  the  two  natures  in 
Christ  or  the  relations  of  the  Persons  in  the  Trinity, 
and  to  expel  from  the  Church  those  who  differed  from 
their  views,  and  that  the  once  formidable  sects  which 
held  slightly  different  opinions  about  these  inscrutable 
relations  gradually  faded  away.  Such  an  unanimity  on 
such  subjects  and  attained  by  such  methods  does  not 


6  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

appear  to  me  to  carry  with  it  any  overwhelming  force. 
There  are,  however,  a  certain  number  of  beliefs  that  are 
not  susceptible  of  demonstrative  proof,  and  which  must 
always  rest  essentially  on  the  universal  assent  of  man- 
kind. Such  is  the  existence  of  the  external  world. 
Such,  in  my  opinion,  is  the  existence  of  a  distinction 
between  right  and  wrong,  different  from  and  higher 
than  the  distinction  between  pleasure  and  pain,  and 
subsisting  in  all  human  nature  in  spite  of  great  diver- 
sities of  opinion  about  the  acts  and  qualities  that  are 
comprised  in  either  category  ;  and  such  also  is  the  kin- 
dred belief  in  a  self-determining  will.  If  men  contend 
that  these  things  are  mere  illusions  and  that  their  facul- 
ties are  not  to  be  trusted,  it  will  no  doubt  be  difficult 
or  impossible  to  refute  them  ;  but  a  scepticism  of  this 
kind  has  no  real  influence  on  either  conduct  or  feeling. 


RELIGION  AND  STOICISM 


CHAPTEK  II 

MEN  continually  forget  that  Happiness  is  a  condition 
of  Mind  and  not  a  disposition  of  circumstances,  and  one 
of  the  most  common  of  errors  is  that  of  confusing  hap- 
piness with  the  means  of  happiness,  sacrificing  the  first 
for  the  attainment  of  the  second.  It  is  the  error  of  the 
miser,  who  begins  by  seeking  money  for  the  enjoyment 
it  procures  and  ends  by  making  the  mere  acquisition  of 
money  his  sole  object,  pursuing  it  to  the  sacrifice  of  all 
rational  ends  and  pleasures.  Circumstances  and  Cha- 
racter both  contribute  to  Happiness,  but  the  proportion- 
ate attention  paid  to  one  or  other  of  these  great  depart- 
ments not  only  varies  largely  with  different  individuals, 
but  also  with  different  nations  and  in  different  ages. 
Thus  Eeligion  acts  mainly  in  the  formation  of  disposi- 
tions, and  it  is  especially  in  this  field  that  its  bearing 
on  human  happiness  should  be  judged.  It  influences, 
it  is  true,  vastly  and  variously  the  external  circum- 
stances of  life,  but  its  chief  power  of  comforting  and 
supporting  lies  in  its  direct  and  immediate  action  upon 
the  human  soul.  The  same  thing  is  true  of  some  sys- 
tems of  philosophy  of  which  Stoicism  is  the  most  con- 
spicuous. The  paradox  of  the  Stoic  that  good  and  evil 
are  so  entirely  from  within  that  to  a  wise  man  all  exter- 
nal circumstances  are  indifferent,  represents  this  view 
of  life  in  its  extreme  form.  Its  more  moderate  form 
can  hardly  be  better  expressed  than  in  the  saying  of 


3  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

Dugald  Stewart  that  '  the  great  secret  of  happiness  is 
to  study  to  accommodate  our  own  minds  to  things  ex- 
ternal rather  than  to  accommodate  things  external  to 
ourselves. '  *  It  is  eminently  the  characteristic  of  East- 
ern nations  to  place  their  ideals  mainly  in  states  of  mind 
or  feeling  rather  than  in  changes  of  circumstances,  and 
in  such  nations  men  are  much  less  desirous  than  in 
European  countries  of  altering  the  permanent  condi- 
tions of  their  lives. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  tendency  of  those  philosophies 
which  treat  man — his  opinions  and  his  character — essen- 
tially as  the  result  of  circumstances,  and  which  aggran- 
dise the  influence  of  the  external  world  upon  mankind, 
is  in  the  opposite  direction.  All  the  sensational  philo- 
sophies from  Bacon  and  Locke  to  our  own  day  tend  to 
concentrate  attention  on  the  external  circumstances  and 
conditions  of  happiness.  And  the  same  tendency  will 
be  naturally  found  in  the  most  active,  industrial  and 
progressive  nations  ;  where  life  is  very  full  and  busy  ; 
where  its  competitions  are  most  keen  ;  where  scientific 
discoveries  are  rapidly  multiplying  pleasures  or  dimi- 
nishing pains  ;  where  town  life  with  its  constant  hurry 
and  change  is  the  most  prominent.  In  such  spheres 
men  naturally  incline  to  seek  happiness  from  without 
rather  than  from  within,  or,  in  other  words,  to  seek  it 
much  less  by  acting  directly  on  the  mind  and  character 
than  through  the  indirect  method  of  improved  circum- 
stances. 

English  character  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic  is  an 
eminently  objective  one — a  character  in  which  thoughts, 


1  Active  and  Moral  Powers,  ii.  312. 


ENGLISH  IDEALS  9 

interests  and  emotions  are  most  habitually  thrown  on 
that  which  is  without.  Introspection  and  self-analysis 
are  not  congenial  to  it.  No  one  can  compare  English 
life  with  life  even  in  the  Continental  nations  which 
occupy  the  same  rank  in  civilisation  without  perceiving 
how  much  less  Englishmen  are  accustomed  either  to 
dwell  upon  their  emotions  or  to  give  free  latitude  to 
their  expression.  Eeticence  and  self-restraint  are  the 
lessons  most  constantly  inculcated.  The  whole  tone  of 
society  favours  it.  In  times  of  great  sorrow  a  degree  of 
shame  is  attached  to  demonstrations  of  grief  which  in 
other  countries  would  be  deemed  perfectly  natural. 
The  disposition  to  dilate  upon  and  perpetuate  an  old 
grief  by  protracted  mournings,  by  carefully  observed 
anniversaries,  by  long  periods  of  retirement  from  the 
world,  is  much  less  common  than  on  the  Continent  and 
it  is  certainly  diminishing.  The  English  tendency  is 
to  turn  away  speedily  from  the  past,  and  to  seek  conso- 
lation in  new  fields  of  activity.  Emotions  translate 
themselves  speedily  into  action,  and  they  lose  something 
of  their  intensity  by  the  transformation.  Philanthropy 
is  nowhere  more  active  and  more  practical,  and  religion 
has  in  few  countries  a  greater  hold  on  the  national  life, 
but  English  Protestantism  reflects  very  clearly  the  na- 
tional characteristics.  It,  no  doubt,  like  all  religions, 
lays  down  rules  for  the  government  of  thought  and  feel- 
ing, but  these  are  of  a  very  general  character.  Pre- 
eminently a  regulator  of  conduct,  it  lays  comparatively 
little  stress  upon  the  inner  life.  It  discourages,  or  at 
least  neglects  that  minutely  introspective  habit  of 
thought  which  the  confessional  is  so  much  calculated 
to  promote,  which  appears  so  prominently  in  the  writ- 


10  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

ingg  of  the  Catholic  Saints,  and  which  finds  its  special 
representation  in  the  mystics  and  the  religious  contem- 
plative orders.  Improved  conduct  and  improved  cir- 
cumstances are  to  an  English  mind  the  chief  and  almost 
the  only  measures  of  progress. 

That  this  tendency  is  on  the  whole  a  healthy  one, 
I,  at  least,  firmly  believe,  but  it  brings  with  it  certain 
manifest  limitations  and  somewhat  incapacitates  men 
from  judging  other  types  of  character  and  happiness. 
The  part  that  circumstances  play  in  the  formation  of 
our  characters  is  indeed  very  manifest,  and  it  is  a 
humiliating  truth  that  among  these  circumstances  mere 
bodily  conditions  which  we  share  with  the  animals  hold 
a  foremost  place.  In  the  long  run  and  to  the  great 
majority  of  men  health  is  probably  the  most  important 
of  all  the  elements  of  happiness.  Acute  physical  suffer- 
ing or  shattered  health  will  more  than  counterbalance 
the  best  gifts  of  fortune,  and  the  bias  of  our  nature  and 
even  the  processes  of  our  reasoning  are  largely  influ- 
enced by  physical  conditions.  Hume  has  spoken  of 
that  '  disposition  to  see  the  favourable  rather  than  the 
unfavourable  side  of  things  which  it  is  more  happiness 
to  possess  than  to  be  heir  to  an  estate  of  10,0002.  a 
year ; '  but  this  gift  of  a  happy  temperament  is  very 
evidently  greatly  due  to  bodily  conditions.  On  the 
other  hand,  it  is  well  known  how  speedily  and  how 
powerfully  bodily  ailments  react  upon  our  moral  na- 
tures. Every  one  is  aware  of  the  morbid  irritability 
that  is  produced  by  certain  maladies  of  the  nerves  or  of 
the  brain  ;  of  the  deep  constitutional  depression  which 
often  follows  diseases  of  the  liver,  or  prolonged  sleep- 
lessness and  other  hypochondriacal  maladies,  and  which 


ACTION  OF  THE  BODY  ON  HAPPINESS  H 

not  only  deprives  men  of  most  of  their  capacity  of  en- 
joyment, but  also  infallibly  gives  a  colour  and  a  bias  to 
their  reasonings  on  life  ;  of  the  manner  in  which  animal 
passions  as  well  as  animal  spirits  are  affected  by  certain 
well-known  conditions  of  age  and  health.  In  spite  of 
the  '  ccelum  non  animum  mutant '  of  Horace,  few  men 
fail  to  experience  how  different  is  the  range  of  spirits 
in  the  limbo-like  atmosphere  of  a  London  winter  and 
beneath  the  glories  of  an  Italian  sky  or  in  the  keen  bra- 
cing atmosphere  of  the  mountain  side,  and  it  is  equally 
apparent  how  differently  we  judge  the  world  when  we 
are  jaded  by  a  long  spell  of  excessive  work  or  refreshed 
after  a  night  of  tranquil  sleep.  Poetry  and  Painting 
are  probably  not  wrong  in  associating  a  certain  bilious 
temperament  with  a  predisposition  to  envy,  or  an 
anaemic  or  lymphatic  temperament  with  a  saintly  life, 
and  there  are  well-attested  cases  in  which  an  acute  ill- 
ness has  fundamentally  altered  characters,  sometimes 
replacing  an  habitual  gloom  by  buoyancy  and  light.1 
That  invaluable  gift  which  enables  some  men  to  cast 
aside  trouble  and  turn  their  thoughts  and  energies 
swiftly  and  decisively  into  new  channels  can  be  largely 
strengthened  by  the  action  of  the  will,  but  according 
to  some  physiologists  it  has  a  well-ascertained  physical 
antecedent  in  the  greater  or  less  contractile  power  of 
the  blood-vessels  which  feed  the  brain  causing  the  flow 
of  blood  into  it  to  be  stronger  or  less  rapid.  If  it  be 
true  that  '  a  healthy  mind  in  a  healthy  body '  is  the 
supreme  condition  of  happiness,  it  is  also  true  that  the 


1  Much  curious  information  on  this  subject  will  be  found  in 
Cabanis'  Rapports  du  physique  et  du  moral  de  I'homme. 


12  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

healthy  mind  depends  more  closely  than  we  like  to  own 
on  the  healthy  body. 

These  are  but  a  few  obvious  instances  of  the  manner 
in  which  the  body  acts  upon  happiness.  They  do  not 
mean  that  the  will  is  powerless  in  the  face  of  bodily 
conditions,  but  that  in  the  management  of  character  it 
has  certain  very  definite  predispositions  to  encounter. 
In  reasonings  on  life,  even  more  than  on  other  things, 
a  good  reasoner  will  consider  not  only  the  force  of  the 
opposing  arguments,  but  also  the  bias  to  which  his  own 
mind  is  subject.  To  raise  the  level  of  national  health 
is  one  of  the  surest  ways  of  raising  the  level  of  national 
happiness,  and  in  estimating  the  value  of  different 
pleasures  many  which,  considered  in  themselves,  might 
appear  to  rank  low  upon  the  scale,  will  rank  high,  if 
in  addition  to  the  immediate  and  transient  enjoyment 
they  procure,  they  contribute  to  form  a  strong  and 
healthy  body.  No  branch  of  legislation  is  more  really 
valuable  than  that  which  is  occupied  with  the  health  of 
the  people,  whether  it  takes  the  form  of  encouraging 
the  means  by  which  remedies  may  be  discovered  and 
diffused,  or  of  extirpating  by  combined  efforts  particu- 
lar diseases,  or  of  securing  that  the  mass  of  labour  in 
the  community  should  as  far  as  possible  be  carried  on 
under  sound  sanitary  conditions.  Fashion  also  can  do 
much,  both  for  good  and  ill.  It  exercises  over  great 
multitudes  an  almost  absolute  empire,  regulating  their 
dress,  their  education,  their  hours,  their  amusements, 
their  food,  their  scale  of  expenditure  ;  determining  the 
qualities  to  which  they  principally  aspire,  the  work  in 
which  they  may  engage,  and  even  the  form  of  beauty 
which  they  most  cultivate.  It  is  happy  for  a  nation 


SLIGHT   CAUSES  OF  LIFE  FAILURES  lg 

when  this  mighty  influence  is  employed  in  encouraging 
habits  of  life  which  are  beneficial  or  at  least  not  gravely 
prejudicial  to  health.  Nor  is  any  form  of  individual 
education  more  really  valuable  than  that  which  teaches 
the  main  conditions  of  a  healthy  life  and  forms  those 
habits  of  temperance  and  self-restraint  that  are  most 
likely  to  attain  it. 

With  its  great  recuperative  powers  Youth  can  do  with 
apparent  impunity  many  things  which  in  later  life  bring 
a  speedy  Nemesis  ;  but  on  the  other  hand  Youth  is  pre- 
eminently the  period  when  habits  and  tastes  are  formed, 
and  the  yoke  which  is  then  lightly,  willingly,  wantonly 
assumed  will  in  after  years  acquire  a  crushing  weight. 
Few  things  are  more  striking  than  the  levity  of  the 
motives,  the  feebleness  of  the  impulses  under  which  in 
youth  fatal  steps  are  taken  which  bring  with  them  a 
weakened  life  and  often  an  early  grave.  Smoking  in 
manhood,  when  practised  in  moderation,  is  a  very  in- 
nocent and  probably  beneficent  practice,  but  it  is  well 
known  how  deleterious  it  is  to  young  boys,  and  how 
many  of  them  have  taken  to  it  through  no  other  motive 
than  a  desire  to  appear  older  than  they  are — that  surest 
of  all  signs  that  we  are  very  young.  How  often  have 
the  far  more  pernicious  habits  of  drinking,  or  gambling, 
or  frequenting  corrupt  society  been  acquired  through  a 
similar  motive,  or  through  the  mere  desire  to  enjoy  the 
charm  of  a  forbidden  pleasure  or  to  stand  well  with 
some  dissipated  companions  !  How  large  a  proportion 
of  lifelong  female  debility  is  due  to  an  early  habit  of 
tight  lacing,  springing  only  from  the  silliest  vanity! 
How  many  lives  have  been  sacrificed  through  the  care- 
less recklessness  which  refused  to  take  the  trouble  of 


14  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

changing  wet  clothes  !  How  many  have  been  shattered 
and  shortened  by  excess  in  things  which  in  moderation 
are  harmless,  useful,  or  praiseworthy, — by  the  broken 
blood-vessel,  due  to  excess  in  some  healthy  athletic  ex- 
ercise or  game  ;  by  the  ruined  brain  overstrained  in 
order  to  win  some  paltry  prize  !  It  is  melancholy  to  ob- 
serve how  many  lives  have  been  broken  down,  ruined  or 
corrupted  in  attempts  to  realise  some  supreme  and  un- 
attainable desire  ;  through  the  impulse  of  overmastering 
passion,  of  powerful  and  perhaps  irresistible  temptation. 
It  is  still  sadder  to  observe  how  large  a  proportion  of 
the  failures  of  life  may  be  ultimately  traced  to  the  most 
insignificant  causes  and  might  have  been  avoided  with- 
out any  serious  effort  either  of  intellect  or  will. 

The  success  with  which  medicine  and  sanitary  science 
have  laboured  to  prolong  life,  to  extirpate  or  diminish 
different  forms  of  disease  and  to  alleviate  their  conse- 
quences is  abundantly  proved.  In  all  civilised  countries 
the  average  of  life  has  been  raised,  and  there  is  good 
reason  to  believe  that  not  only  old  age  but  also  active, 
useful,  enjoyable  old  age  has  become  much  more  fre- 
quent. It  is  true  that  the  gain  to  human  happiness  is 
not  quite  as  great  as  might  at  first  sight  be  imagined. 
Death  is  least  sad  when  it  comes  in  infancy  or  in  ex- 
treme old  age,  and  the  increased  average  of  life  is  largely 
due  to  the  great  diminution  in  infant  mortality,  which 
is  in  truth  a  very  doubtful  blessing.  If  extreme  old  age 
is  a  thing  to  be  desired,  it  is  perhaps  chiefly  because  it 
usually  implies  a  constitution  which  gives  many  earlier 
years  of  robust  and  healthy  life.  But  with  all  deduc- 
tions the  triumphs  of  sanitary  reform  as  well  as  of  medi- 
cal science  are  perhaps  the  brightest  page  in  the  history 


INFLUENCES  LOWERING  HEALTH  15 

of  our  century.  Some  of  the  measures  which  have 
proved  most  useful  can  only  be  effected  at  some  sacri- 
fice of  individual  freedom  and  by  widespread  coercive 
sanitary  regulations,  and  are  thus  more  akin  to  despot- 
ism than  to  free  government.  How  different  would 
have  been  the  condition  of  the  world,  and  how  far 
greater  would  have  been  the  popularity  of  strong  mon- 
archy if  at  the  time  when  such  a  form  of  government 
generally  prevailed  rulers  had  had  the  intelligence  to 
put  before  them  the  improvement  of  the  health  and  the 
prolongation  of  the  lives  of  their  subjects  as  the  main 
object  of  their  policy  rather  than  military  glory  or  the 
acquisition  of  territory  or  mere  ostentatious  and  selfish 
display ! 

There  is,  however,  some  reason  to  believe  that  the 
diminution  of  disease  and  the  prolongation  of  average 
human  life  are  not  necessarily  or  even  generally  accom- 
panied by  a  corresponding  improvement  in  general 
health.  'Acute  diseases,'  says  an  excellent  judge, 
'  which  are  eminently  fatal,  prevail,  on  the  contrary,  in 
a  population  where  the  standard  of  health  is  high.  .  .  . 
Thus  a  high  rate  of  mortality  may  often  be  observed  in 
a  community  where  the  number  of  persons  affected  with 
disease  is  small,  and  on  the  other  hand  general  physical 
depression  may  concur  with  the  prevalence  of  chronic 
maladies  and  yet  be  unattended  with  a  great  proportion 
of  deaths. '  *  An  anaemic  population,  free  from  severe 
illness,  but  living  habitually  at  a  low  level  of  health 
and  with  the  depressed  spirits  and  feeble  capacity  of 


1  Kay's  Moral  and  Physical  Condition  of  the  Working  Classes, 
p.  75. 


1(5  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

enjoyment  which  such  a  condition  produces,  is  far  from 
an  ideal  state,  and  there  is  much  reason  to  fear  that  this 
type  is  an  increasing  one.  Many  things  in  modern  life, 
among  which  ill-judged  philanthropy  and  ill-judged 
legislation  have  no  small  part,  contribute  to  produce  it, 
but  two  causes  probably  dominate  over  all  others.  The 
one  is  to  be  found  in  sanitary  science  itself,  which  en- 
ables great  numbers  of  constitutionally  weak  children 
who  in  other  days  would  have  died  in  infancy  to  grow 
up  and  marry  and  propagate  a  feeble  offspring.  The 
other  is  the  steady  movement  of  population  from  the 
country  to  the  towns,  which  is  one  of  the  most  con- 
spicuous features  of  modern  civilisation.  These  two 
influences  inevitably  and  powerfully  tend  to  depress 
the  vitality  of  a  nation,  and  by  doing  so  to  lower  the 
level  of  animal  spirits  which  is  one  of  the  most  essen- 
tial elements  of  happiness.  Whether  our  improved 
standards  of  living  and  our  much  greater  knowledge  of 
sanitary  conditions  altogether  counteract  them  is  very 
doubtful. 

In  this  as  in  most  questions  affecting  life  there  are 
opposite  dangers  to  be  avoided,  and  wisdom  lies  mainly 
in  a  just  sense  of  proportion  and  degree.  That  sanitary 
reform,  promoted  by  governments,  has  on  the  whole 
been  a  great  blessing  seems  to  me  scarcely  open  to  rea- 
sonable question,  but  many  of  the  best  judges  are  of 
opinion  that  it  may  easily  be  pushed  to  dangerous  ex- 
tremes. Few  things  are  more  curious  than  to  observe 
how  rapidly  during  the  past  generation  the  love  of 
individual  liberty  has  declined  ;  how  contentedly  the 
English  race  are  submitting  great  departments  of  their 
lives  to  a  web  of  regulations  restricting  and  encircling 


CARDINAL  RULES  OF  HEALTH  17 

them.  Each  individual  case  must  be  considered  on  its 
merits,  and  few  persons  will  now  deny  that  the  right 
of  adult  men  and  women  to  regulate  the  conditions  of 
their  own  work  and  to  determine  the  risks  that  they 
will  assume  may  be  wisely  infringed  in  more  cases  than 
the  Manchester  School  would  have  admitted.  At  the 
same  time  the  marked  tendency  of  this  generation  to 
extend  the  stringency  and  area  of  coercive  legislation 
in  the  fields  of  industry  and  sanitary  reform  is  one  that 
should  be  carefully  watched.  Its  exaggerations  may  in 
more  ways  than  one  greatly  injure  the  very  classes  it  is 
intended  to  benefit. 

A  somewhat  corresponding  statement  may  be  made 
about  individual  sanitary  education.  It  is,  as  I  have 
said,  a  matter  of  the  most  vital  importance  that  we 
should  acquire  in  youth  the  knowledge  and  the  habits 
that  lead  to  a  healthy  life.  The  main  articles  of  the 
sanitary  creed  are  few  and  simple.  Moderation  and 
self-restraint  in  all  things — an  abundance  of  exercise, 
of  fresh  air,  and  of  cold  water — a  sufficiency  of  steady 
work  not  carried  to  excess — occasional  change  of  habits 
and  abstinence  from  a  few  things  which  are  manifestly 
injurious  to  health,  are  the  cardinal  rules  to  be  ob- 
served. In  the  great  lottery  of  life,  men  who  have 
observed  them  all  may  be  doomed  to  illness,  weak  vitality, 
and  early  death,  but  they  at  least  add  enormously  to 
the  chances  of  a  strong  and  full  life.  The  parent  will 
need  further  knowledge  for  the  care  of  his  children, 
but  for  self -guidance  little  more  is  required,  and  with 
early  habits  an  observance  of  the  rules  of  health  be- 
comes almost  instinctive  and  unconscious.  But  while 

no  kind  of  education  is  more  transcendently  important 
2 


18  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

than  this,  it  is  not  unfrequently  carried  to  an  extreme 
which  defeats  its  own  purpose.  The  habit  that  so  often 
grows  upon  men  with  slight  chronic  maladies,  or  feeble 
temperament,  or  idle  lives,  of  making  their  own  health 
and  their  own  ailments  the  constant  subject  of  their 
thoughts  soon  becomes  a  disease  very  fatal  to  happiness 
and  positively  injurious  to  health.  It  is  well  known 
how  in  an  epidemic  the  panic-stricken  are  most  liable 
to  the  contagion,  and  the  life  of  the  habitual  valetudi- 
narian tends  promptly  to  depress  the  nerve  energy 
which  provides  the  true  stamina  of  health.  In  the 
words  of  an  eminent  physician,  'It  is  not  by  being 
anxious  in  an  inordinate  or  unduly  fussy  fashion  that 
men  can  hope  to  live  long  and  well.  The  best  way  to 
live  well  is  to  work  well.  Good  work  is  the  daily  test 
and  safeguard  of  personal  health.  .  .  .  The  practical 
aim  should  be  to  live  an  orderly  and  natural  life.  We 
were  not  intended  to  pick  our  way  through  the  world 
trembling  at  every  step.  ...  It  is  worse  than  vain,  for 
it  encourages  and  increases  the  evil  it  attempts  to  re- 
lieve. ...  I  firmly  believe  one  half  of  the  confirmed 
invalids  of  the  day  could  be  cured  of  their  maladies  if 
they  were  compelled  to  live  busy  and  active  lives  and 
had  no  time  to  fret  over  their  miseries.  .  .  .  One  of 
the  most  seductive  and  mischievous  of  errors  in  self- 
management  is  the  practice  of  giving  way  to  inertia, 
weakness  and  depression.  .  .  .  Those  who  desire  to 
live  should  settle  this  well  in  their  minds,  that  nerve 
power  is  the  force  of  life  and  that  the  will  has  a  won- 
drously  strong  and  direct  influence  over  the  body 
through  the  brain  and  the  nervous  system. '  * 

1  Mortimer  Granville's  How  to  Make  the  Best  of  Life. 


WORK  ESSENTIAL  TO  HAPPINESS  19 


CHAPTEE  III 

BEFORE  entering  into  a  more  particular  account  of 
the  chief  elements  of  a  happy  life  it  may  be  useful  to 
devote  a  few  pages  to  some  general  considerations  on 
the  subject. 

One  of  the  first  and  most  clearly  recognised  rules  to 
be  observed  is  that  happiness  is  most  likely  to  be  at- 
tained when  it  is  not  the  direct  object  of  pursuit.  In 
early  youth  we  are  accustomed  to  divide  life  broadly 
into  work  and  play,  regarding  the  first  as  duty  or  neces- 
sity and  the  second  as  pleasure.  One  of  the  great  dif- 
ferences between  childhood  and  manhood  is  that  we 
come  to  like  our  work  more  than  our  play.  It  becomes 
to  us,  if  not  the  chief  pleasure,  at  least  the  chief  interest 
of  our  lives,  and  even  when  it  is  not  this,  an  essential 
condition  of  our  happiness.  Few  lives  produce  so  little 
happiness  as  those  that  are  aimless  and  unoccupied. 
Apart  from  all  considerations  of  right  and  wrong,  one 
of  the  first  conditions  of  a  happy  life  is  that  it  should 
be  a  full  and  busy  one,  directed  to  the  attainment  of 
aims  outside  ourselves.  Anxiety  and  Ennui  are  the 
Scylla  and  Charybdis  on  which  the  bark  of  human  hap- 
piness is  most  commonly  wrecked.  If  a  life  of  luxuri- 
ous idleness  and  selfish  ease  in  some  measure  saves  men 
from  the  first  danger,  it  seldom  fails  to  bring  with  it  the 
second.  No  change  of  scene,  no  multiplicity  of  selfish 


20  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

pleasures  will  in  the  long  run  enable  them  to  escape  it. 
As  Carlyle  says,  '  The  restless,  gnawing  ennui  which, 
like  a  dark,  dim,  ocean  flood,  communicating  with  the 
Phlegethons  and  Stygian  deeps,  begirdles  every  human 
life  so  guided — is  it  not  the  painful  cry  even  of  that  im- 
prisoned heroism  ?  .  .  .  You  ask  for  happiness.  "Oh 
give  me  happiness,"  and  they  hand  you  ever  new  vari- 
eties of  covering  for  the  skin,  ever  new  kinds  of  supply 
for  the  digestive  apparatus.  .  .  .  Well,  rejoice  in  your 
upholsteries  and  cookeries  if  so  be  they  will  make  you 
"happy."  Let  the  varieties  of  them  be  continual  and 
innumerable.  In  all  things  let  perpetual  change,  if 
that  is  a  perpetual  blessing  to  you,  be  your  portion  in- 
stead of  mine.  Incur  the  prophet's  curse  and  in  all 
things  in  this  sublunary  world  "make  yourselves  like 
unto  a  wheel."  Mount  into  your  railways  ;  whirl  from 
place  to  place  at  the  rate  of  fifty  or,  if  you  like,  of  five 
hundred  miles  an  hour  ;  you  cannot  escape  from  that 
inexorable,  all-encircling  ocean  moan  of  ennui.  No  ; 
if  you  could  mount  to  the  stars  and  do  yacht  voyages 
under  the  belts  of  Jupiter  or  stalk  deer  on  the  ring  of 
Saturn  it  would  still  begirdle  you.  You  cannot  escape 
from  it ;  you  can  but  change  your  place  in  it  without 
solacement  except  one  moment's.  That  prophetic  Ser- 
mon from  the  Deeps  will  continue  with  you  till  you 
wisely  interpret  it  and  do  it  or  else  till  the  Crack  of 
Doom  swallow  it  and  you.' 1 

It  needs  but  a  few  years  of  life  experience  to  realise 
the  profound  truth  of  this  passage.  An  ideal  life  would 
be  furnished  with  abundant  work  of  a  kind  that  is  con- 


Latter-day  Pamphlets :  '  Jesuitism.' 


A  MAXIM  OF  ARISTOTLE  21 

genial  both  to  our  intellects  and  our  characters  and  that 
brings  with  it  much  interest  and  little  anxiety.  Few 
of  us  can  command  this.  Most  men's  work  is  largely 
determined  for  them  by  circumstances,  though  in  the 
guidance  of  life  there  are  many  alternatives  and  much 
room  for  skilful  pilotage.  But  the  first  great  rule  is 
that  we  must  do  something — that  life  must  have  a  pur- 
pose and  an  aim — that  work  should  be  not  merely  oc- 
casional and  spasmodic,  but  steady  and  continuous. 
Pleasure  is  a  jewel  which  will  only  retain  its  lustre 
when  it  is  in  a  setting  of  work,  and  a  vacant  life  is  one 
of  the  worst  of  pains,  though  the  islands  of  leisure  that 
stud  a  crowded,  well-occupied  life  may  be  among  the 
things  to  which  we  look  back  with  the  greatest  delight. 
Another  great  truth  is  conveyed  in  the  saying  of 
Aristotle  that  a  wise  man  will  make  it  his  aim  rather 
to  avoid  suffering  than  to  attain  pleasure.  Men  can  in 
reality  do  very  little  to  mitigate  the  force  of  the  great 
bereavements  and  the  other  graver  calamities  of  life. 
All  our  systems  of  philosophy  and  reasoning  are  vain 
when  confronted  with  them.  Innate  temperament 
which  we  cannot  greatly  change  determines  whether  we 
sink  crushed  beneath  the  blow  or  possess  the  buoyancy 
that  can  restore  health  to  our  natures.  The  conscious 
and  deliberate  pursuit  of  pleasure  is  attended  by  many 
deceptions  and  illusions,  and  rarely  leads  to  lasting  hap- 
piness. But  we  can  do  very  much  by  prudence,  self- 
restraint  and  intelligent  regulation  so  to  manage  life  as 
to  avoid  a  large  proportion  of  its  calamities  and  at  the 
same  time,  by  preserving  the  affections  pure  and  un- 
dimmed,  by  diversifying  interests  and  forming  active 
habits,  to  combat  its  tedium  and  despondency. 


22  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

Another  truth  is  that  both  the  greatest  pleasures  and 
the  keenest  pains  of  life  lie  much  more  in  those  hum- 
bler spheres  which  are  accessible  to  all  than  on  the  rare 
pinnacles  to  which  only  the  most  gifted  or  the  most  for- 
tunate can  attain.  It  would  probably  be  found  upon 
examination  that  most  men  who  have  devoted  their 
lives  successfully  to  great  labours  and  ambitions,  and 
who  have  received  the  most  splendid  gifts  from  For- 
tune, have  nevertheless  found  their  chief  pleasure  in 
things  unconnected  with  their  main  pursuits  and  gen- 
erally within  the  reach  of  common  men.  Domestic 
pleasures,  pleasures  of  scenery,  pleasures  of  reading, 
pleasures  of  travel  or  of  sport  have  been  the  highest  en- 
joyment of  men  of  great  ambition,  intellect,  wealth  and 
position.  There  is  a  curious  passage  in  Lord  Althorp's 
Life  in  which  that  most  popular  and  successful  states- 
man, towards  the  close  of  his  long  parliamentary  life, 
expressed  his  emphatic  conviction  that  '  the  thing  that 
gave  him  the  greatest  pleasure  in  the  world '  was  '  to 
see  sporting  dogs  hunt.' J  I  can  myself  recollect  going 
over  a  country  place  with  an  old  member  of  Parliament 
who  had  sat  in  the  House  of  Commons  for  nearly  fifty 
years  of  the  most  momentous  period  of  modern  English 
history.  If  questioned  he  could  tell  about  the  stirring 
scenes  of  the  great  Eeform  Bill  of  1832,  but  it  was  curi- 
ous to  observe  how  speedily  and  inevitably  he  passed 
from  such  matters  to  the  history  of  the  trees  on  his 
estate  which  he  had  planted  and  watched  at  every  stage 
of  their  growth,  and  how  evidently  in  the  retrospect  of 
life  it  was  to  these  things  and  not  to  the  incidents  of  a 


1  Le  Marchant's  Life  of  Althorp,  p.  143. 


23 

long  parliamentary  career  that  his  affections  naturally 
turned.  I  once  asked  an  illustrious  public  man  who 
had  served  his  country  with  brilliant  success  in  many 
lands,  and  who  was  spending  the  evening  of  his  life  as 
an  active  country  gentleman  in  a  place  which  he  dearly 
loved,  whether  he  did  not  find  this  sphere  too  con- 
tracted for  his  happiness.  'Never  for  a  day,'  he  an- 
swered; 'and  in  every  country  where  I  have  been,  in 
every  post  which  I  have  filled,  the  thought  of  this  place 
has  always  been  at  the  back  of  my  mind.'  A  great 
writer  who  had  devoted  almost  his  whole  life  to  one 
gigantic  work,  and  to  his  own  surprise  brought  it  at 
last  to  a  successful  end,  sadly  observed  that  amid  the 
congratulations  that  poured  in  to  him  from  every  side 
he  could  not  help  feeling,  when  he  analysed  his  own 
emotions,  how  tepid  was  the  satisfaction  which  such  a 
triumph  could  give  him,  and  what  much  more  vivid 
gratification  he  had  come  to  take  in  hearing  the  ap- 
proaching steps  of  some  little  children  whom  he  had 
taught  to  love  him. 

It  is  one  of  the  paradoxes  of  human  nature  that  the 
things  that  are  most  struggled  for  and  the  things  that 
are  most  envied  are  not  those  which  give  either  the 
most  intense  or  the  most  unmixed  joy.  Ambition  is 
the  luxury  of  the  happy.  It  is  sometimes,  but  more 
rarely,  the  consolation  and  distraction  of  the  wretched ; 
but  most  of  those  who  have  trodden  its  paths,  if  they 
deal  honestly  with  themselves,  will  acknowledge  that  the 
gravest  disappointments  of  public  life  dwindle  into  in- 
significance compared  with  the  poignancy  of  suffering 
endured  at  the  deathbed  of  a  wife  or  of  a  child,  and 
that  within  the  small  circle  of  a  family  life  they  have 


24  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

found  more  real  happiness  than  the  applause  of  nations 
could  ever  give. 

Look  down,  look  down  from  your  glittering  heights, 

And  tell  us,  ye  sons  of  glory, 
The  joys  and  the  pangs  of  your  eagle  flights, 

The  triumph  that  crowned  the  story, 

The  rapture  that  thrilled  when  the  goal  was  won, 

The  goal  of  a  life's  desire  ; 
And  a  voice  replied  from  the  setting  sun, 

Nay,  the  dearest  and  best  lies  nigher. 

How  oft  in  such  hours  our  fond  thoughts  stray 

To  the  dream  of  two  idle  lovers  ; 
To  the  young  wife's  kiss  ;  to  the  child  at  play  ; 

Or  the  grave  which  the  long  grass  covers  ! 

And  little  we'd  reck  of  power  or  gold, 

And  of  all  life's  vain  endeavour, 
If  the  heart  could  glow  as  it  glowed  of  old, 

And  if  youth  could  abide  for  ever. 

Another  consideration  in  the  cultivation  of  happiness 
is  the  importance  of  acquiring  the  habit  of  realising  our 
blessings  while  they  last.  It  is  one  of  the  saddest  facts 
of  human  nature  that  we  commonly  only  learn  their 
value  by  their  loss.  This,  as  I  have  already  noticed,  is 
very  evidently  the  case  with  health.  By  the  laws  of 
our  being  we  are  almost  unconscious  of  the  action  of 
our  bodily  organs  as  long  as  they  are  working  well.  It 
is  only  when  they  are  deranged,  obstructed  or  impaired 
that  our  attention  becomes  concentrated  upon  them. 
In  consequence  of  this  a  state  of  perfect  health  is  rarely 
fully  appreciated  until  it  is  lost  and  during  a  short 


REALISATION  OF  PRESENT  GOOD  25 

period  after  it  has  been  regained.  Gray  has  described 
the  new  sensation  of  pleasure  which  convalescence  gives 
in  well-known  lines : 

See  the  wretch  who  long  has  tost 

On  the  thorny  bed  of  pain, 
At  length  repair  his  vigour  lost 

And  breathe  and  walk  again  ; 
The  meanest  floweret  of  the  vale, 
The  simplest  note  that  swells  the  gale, 

The  common  sun,  the  air,  the  skies, 

To  him  are  opening  Paradise. 

And  what  is  true  of  health  is  true  of  other  things. 
It  is  only  when  some  calamity  breaks  the  calm  tenor  of 
our  ways  and  deprives  us  of  some  gift  of  fortune  we 
have  long  enjoyed  that  we  feel  how  great  was  the  value 
of  what  we  have  lost.  There  are  times  in  the  lives  of 
most  of  us  when  we  would  have  given  all  the  world  to 
be  as  we  were  but  yesterday,  though  that  yesterday  had 
passed  over  us  unappreciated  and  unenjoyed.  Some- 
times, indeed,  our  perception  of  this  contrast  brings 
with  it  a  lasting  and  salutary  result.  In  the  medicine 
of  Nature  a  chronic  and  abiding  disquietude  or  mor- 
bidness of  temperament  is  often  cured  by  some  keen 
though  more  transient  sorrow  which  violently  changes 
the  current  of  our  thoughts  and  imaginations. 

The  difference  between  knowledge  and  realisation  is 
one  of  the  facts  of  our  nature  that  are  most  worthy 
of  our  attention.  Every  human  mind  contains  great 
masses  of  inert,  passive,  undisputed  knowledge  which 
exercise  no  real  influence  on  thought  or  character  till 
something  occurs  which  touches  our  imagination  and 


26  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

quickens  this  knowledge  into  activity.  Very  few  things 
contribute  so  much  to  the  happiness  of  life  as  a  con- 
stant realisation  of  the  blessings  we  enjoy.  The  differ- 
ence between  a  naturally  contented  and  a  naturally  dis- 
contented nature  is  one  of  the  marked  differences  of 
innate  temperament,  but  we  can  do  much  to  cultivate 
that  habit  of  dwelling  on  the  benefits  of  our  lot  which 
converts  acquiescence  into  a  more  positive  enjoyment. 
Eeligion  in  this  field  does  much,  for  it  inculcates  thanks- 
giving as  well  as  prayer,  gratitude  for  the  present  and 
the  past  as  well  as  hope  for  the  future.  Among  secular 
influences,  contrast  and  comparison  have  the  greatest 
value.  Some  minds  are  always  looking  on  the  fortunes 
that  are  above  them  and  comparing  their  own  penury 
with  the  opulence  of  others.  A  wise  nature  will  take 
an  opposite  course  and  will  cultivate  the  habit  of  look- 
ing rather  at  the  round  of  the  ladder  of  fortune  which 
is  below  our  own  and  realising  the  countless  points  in 
which  our  lot  is  better  than  that  of  others.  As  Dr. 
Johnson  says,  '  Few  are  placed  in  a  situation  so  gloomy 
and  distressful  as  not  to  see  every  day  beings  yet  more 
forlorn  and  miserable  from  whom  they  may  learn  to 
rejoice  in  their  own  lot. ' 

The  consolation  men  derive  amid  their  misfortunes 
from  reflecting  upon  the  still  greater  misfortunes  of 
others  and  thus  lightening  their  own  by  contrast  is  a 
topic  which  must  be  delicately  used,  but  when  so  used 
it  is  not  wrong  and  it  often  proves  very  efficacious. 
Perhaps  the  pleasure  La  Rochefoucauld  pretends  that 
men  take  in  the  misfortunes  of  their  best  friends,  if  it 
is  a  real  thing,  is  partly  due  to  this  consideration,  as 
the  feeling  of  pity  which  is  inspired  by  some  sudden 


CONTENT  AND  PROGRESS  27 

death  or  great  trouble  falling  on  others  is  certainly 
not  wholly  unconnected  with  the  realisation  that  such 
calamities  might  fall  upon  ourselves.  It  is  worthy  of 
notice,  however,  that  while  all  moralists  recognise  con- 
tent as  one  of  the  chief  ingredients  of  happiness,  some 
of  the  strongest  influences  of  modern  industrial  civili- 
sation are  antagonistic  to  it.  The  whole  theory  of  pro- 
gress as  taught  by  Political  Economy  rests  upon  the  im- 
portance of  creating  wants  and  desires  as  a  stimulus  to 
exertion.  There  are  countries,  especially  in  southern 
climates,  where  the  wants  of  men  are  very  few,  and 
where,  as  long  as  those  wants  are  satisfied,  men  will  live  a 
careless  and  contented  life,  enjoying  the  present,  think- 
ing very  little  of  the  future.  Whether  the  sum  of  en- 
joyment in  such  a  population  is  really  less  than  in  our 
more  advanced  civilisation  is  at  least  open  to  question. 
It  is  a  remark  of  Schopenhauer  that  the  Idyll,  which 
is  the  only  form  of  poetry  specially  devoted  to  the  de- 
scription of  human  felicity,  always  paints  life  in  its 
simplest  and  least  elaborated  form,  and  he  sees  in  this 
an  illustration  of  his  doctrine  that  the  greatest  happi- 
ness will  be  found  in  the  simplest  and  even  most  uni- 
form life  provided  it  escapes  the  evil  of  ennui.  The 
political  economist,  however,  will  pronounce  the  con- 
dition of  such  a  people  as  I  have  described  a  deplorable 
one,  and  in  order  to  raise  them  his  first  task  will  be  to 
infuse  into  them  some  discontent  with  their  lot,  to  per- 
suade them  to  multiply  their  wants  and  to  aspire  to  a 
higher  standard  of  comfort,  to  a  fuller  and  a  larger  ex- 
istence. A  discontent  with  existing  circumstances  is 
the  chief  source  of  a  desire  to  improve  them,  and  this 
desire  is  the  mainspring  of  progress.  In  this  theory  of 


28  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

life,  happiness  is  sought,  not  in  content,  but  in  improved 
circumstances,  in  the  development  of  new  capacities  of 
enjoyment,  in  the  pleasure  which  active  existence  natu- 
rally gives.  To  maintain  in  their  due  proportion  in 
our  nature  the  spirit  of  content  and  the  desire  to  im- 
prove, to  combine  a  realised  appreciation  of  the  bless- 
ings we  enjoy  with  a  healthy  and  well-regulated  am- 
bition, is  no  easy  thing,  but  it  is  the  problem  which  all 
who  aspire  to  a  perfect  life  should  set  before  themselves. 
In  medio  tutissimus  ibis  is  eminently  true  of  the  cul- 
tivation of  character,  and  some  of  its  best  elements 
become  pernicious  in  their  extremes.  Thus  prudent 
forethought,  which  is  one  of  the  first  conditions  of  a 
successful  life,  may  easily  degenerate  into  that  most 
miserable  state  of  mind  in  which  men  are  perpetually 
anticipating  and  dwelling  upon  the  uncertain  dangers 
and  evils  of  an  uncertain  future.  How  much  indeed 
of  the  happiness  and  misery  of  men  may  be  included 
under  those  two  words,  realisation  and  anticipation ! 

There  is  no  such  thing  as  a  Eudasmometer  measuring 
with  accuracy  the  degrees  of  happiness  realised  by  men 
in  different  ages,  under  different  circumstances,  and 
with  different  characters.  Perhaps  if  such  a  thing  ex- 
isted it  might  tend  to  discourage  us  by  showing  that 
diversities  and  improvements  of  circumstances  affect 
real  happiness  in  a  smaller  degree  than  we  are  accus- 
tomed to  imagine.  Our  nature  accommodates  itself 
speedily  to  improved  circumstances,  and  they  cease  to 
give  positive  pleasure  while  their  loss  is  acutely  painful. 
Advanced  civilisation  brings  with  it  countless  and  in- 
estimable benefits,  but  it  also  brings  with  it  many  forms 
of  Buffering  from  which  a  ruder  existence  is  exempt. 


THE  OBJECT  OF  HUMAN  EFFORT  29 

There  is  some  reason  to  believe  that  it  is  usually  accom- 
panied with  a  lower  range  of  animal  spirits,  and  it  is 
certainly  accompanied  with  an  increased  sensitiveness 
to  pain.  Some  philosophers  have  contended  that  this 
is  the  best  of  all  possible  worlds.  It  is  difficult  to  be- 
lieve so,  as  the  whole  object  of  human  effort  is  to  make 
it  a  better  one.  But  the  success  of  that  effort  is  more 
apparent  in  the  many  terrible  forms  of  human  suffering 
which  it  has  abolished  or  diminished  than  in  the  higher 
level  of  positive  happiness  that  has  been  attained. 


30  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 


CHAPTER  IV 

THOUGH  the  close  relationship  that  subsists  between 
morals  and  happiness  is  universally  acknowledged,  I  do 
not  belong  to  the  school  which  believes  that  pleasure 
and  pain,  either  actual  or  anticipated,  are  the  only  mo- 
tives by  which  the  human  will  can  be  governed  ;  that 
virtue  resolves  itself  ultimately  into  well-considered  in- 
terest and  finds  its  ultimate  reason  in  the  happiness  of 
those  who  practise  it;  that  'all  our  virtues,'  as  La 
Rochefoucauld  has  said,  '  end  in  self-love  as  the  rivers 
in  the  sea.'  Such  a  proverb  as  '  Honesty  is  the  best 
policy '  represents  no  doubt  a  great  truth,  though  it 
has  been  well  said  that  no  man  is  really  honest  who  is 
only  honest  through  this  motive,  and  though  it  is  very 
evident  that  it  is  by  no  means  an  universal  truth  but 
depends  largely  upon  changing  and  precarious  condi- 
tions of  laws,  police,  public  opinion,  and  individual  cir- 
cumstances. But  in  the  higher  realms  of  morals  the 
coincidence  of  happiness  and  virtue  is  far  more  doubt- 
ful. It  is  certainly  not  true  that  the  highest  nature  is 
necessarily  or  even  naturally  the  happiest.  Paganism 
has  produced  no  more  perfect  type  than  the  profoundly 
pathetic  figure  of  Marcus  Aurelius,  while  Christianity 
finds  its  ideal  in  one  who  was  known  as  the  '  Man  of 
Sorrows.'  The  conscience  of  Mankind  has  ever  recog- 
nised self-sacrifice  as  the  supreme  element  of  virtue, 


RELATIONS  OF  MORALS  TO  HAPPINESS  31 

and  self-sacrifice  is  never  real  when  it  is  only  the  ex- 
change of  a  less  happiness  for  a  greater  one.  No  moral 
chemistry  can  transmute  the  worship  of  Sorrow,  which 
Goethe  described  as  the  essence  of  Christianity,  into 
the  worship  of  happiness,  and  probably  with  most  men 
health  and  temperament  play  a  far  larger  part  in  the 
real  happiness  of  their  lives  than  any  of  the  higher 
virtues.  The  satisfaction  of  accomplished  duty  which 
some  moralists  place  among  the  chief  pleasures  of  life 
is  a  real  thing  in  so  far  as  it  saves  men  from  internal 
reproaches,  but  it  is  probable  that  it  is  among  the  worst 
men  that  pangs  of  conscience  are  least  dreaded,  and  it 
is  certainly  not  among  the  best  men  that  they  are  least 
felt.  Conscience,  indeed,  when  it  is  very  sensitive  and 
very  lofty,  is  far  more  an  element  of  suffering  than  the 
reverse.  It  aims  at  an  ideal  higher  than  we  can  attain. 
It  takes  the  lowest  view  of  our  own  achievements.  It 
suffers  keenly  from  the  many  shortcomings  of  which  it 
is  acutely  sensible.  Far  from  indulging  in  the  pleasura- 
ble retrospect  of  a  well-spent  life,  it  urges  men  to  con- 
stant, painful,  and  often  unsuccessful  effort.  A  nature 
that  is  strung  to  the  saintly  or  the  heroic  level  will  find 
itself  placed  in  a  jarring  world,  will  provoke  much  fric- 
tion and  opposition,  and  will  be  pained  by  many  things 
in  which  a  lower  nature  would  placidly  acquiesce.  The 
highest  form  of  intellectual  virtue  is  that  love  of  truth 
for  its  own  sake  which  breaks  up  prejudices,  tempers 
enthusiasm  by  the  full  admission  of  opposing  arguments 
and  qualifying  circumstances,  and  places  in  the  sphere 
of  possibility  or  probability  many  things  which  we 
would  gladly  accept  as  certainties.  Candour  and  im- 
partiality are  in  a  large  degree  virtues  of  temperament ; 


32  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

but  no  one  who  has  any  real  knowledge  of  human  na- 
ture can  doubt  how  much  more  pleasurable  it  is  to  most 
men  to  live  under  the  empire  of  invincible  prejudice, 
deliberately  shutting  out  every  consideration  that  could 
shake  or  qualify  cherished  beliefs.  '  God,'  says  Emer- 
son, '  offers  to  every  mind  its  choice  between  truth  and 
repose.  Take  which  you  please.  You  can  never  have 
both.'  One  of  the  strongest  arguments  of  natural  re- 
ligion rests  upon  the  fact  that  virtue  so  often  fails  to 
bring  its  reward ;  upon  the  belief  that  is  so  deeply  im- 
planted in  human  nature  that  this  is  essentially  unjust 
and  must  in  some  future  state  be  remedied. 

For  such  reasons  as  these  I  believe  it  to  be  impossible 
to  identify  virtue  with  happiness,  and  the  views  of  the 
opposite  school  seem  to  me  chiefly  to  rest  upon  an  un- 
natural and  deceptive  use  of  words.  Even  when  the 
connection  between  virtue  and  pleasure  is  most  close,  it 
is  true,  as  the  old  Stoics  said,  that  though  virtue  gives 
pleasure,  this  is  not  the  reason  why  a  good  man  will 
practise  it ;  that  pleasure  is  the  companion  and  not  the 
guide  of  his  life  ;  that  he  does  not  love  virtue  because 
it  gives  pleasure,  but  it  gives  pleasure  because  he  loves 
it.1  A  true  account  of  human  nature  will  recognise 
that  it  has  the  power  of  aiming  at  something  which  is 
different  from  happiness  and  something  which  may  be 
intelligibly  described  as  higher,  and  that  on  the  pre- 
dominance of  this  loftier  aim  the  nobility  of  life  essen- 
tially depends.  It  is  not  even  true  that  the  end  of  man 
should  be  to  find  peace  at  the  last.  It  should  be  to  do 
his  duty  and  tell  the  truth. 


1  Seneca,  De  Vita  Beata. 


MORALS  AND  HAPPINESS  33 

But  while  this  great  truth  of  the  existence  of  a  higher 
aim  than  happiness  should  be  always  maintained,  the 
relations  between  morals  and  happiness  are  close  and  in- 
timate and  well  worthy  of  investigation.  As  far  as  the 
lower  or  more  commonplace  virtues  are  concerned  there 
can  be  no  mistake.  It  is  very  evident  that  a  healthy, 
long  and  prosperous  life  is  more  likely  to  be  attained  by 
industry,  moderation  and  purity  than  by  the  opposite 
courses.  It  is  very  evident  that  drunkenness  and  sen- 
suality ruin  health  and  shorten  life  ;  that  idleness,  gam- 
bling and  disorderly  habits  ruin  prosperity  ;  that  ill- 
temper,  selfishness  and  envy  kill  friendship  and  provoke 
animosities  and  dislike  ;  that  in  every  well-regulated 
society  there  is  at  least  a  general  coincidence  between 
the  path  of  duty  and  the  path  of  prosperity;  dishon- 
esty, violence  and  disregard  for  the  rights  of  others 
naturally  and  usually  bringing  their  punishment  either 
from  law  or  from  public  opinion  or  from  both.  Bishop 
Butler  has  argued  that  the  general  tendency  of  virtue 
to  lead  to  happiness  and  the  general  tendency  of  vice  to 
lead  to  unhappiness  prove  that  even  in  its  present  state 
there  is  a  moral  government  of  the  world,  and  whatever 
controversy  may  be  raised  about  the  inference  there  can 
at  least  be  no  doubt  about  the  substantial  truth  of  the 
facts.  Happiness,  as  I  have  already  said,  is  best  at- 
tained when  it  is  not  the  direct  or  at  least  the  main  ob- 
ject that  is  aimed  at.  A  wasted  and  inactive  life  not 
only  palls  in  itself  but  deprives  men  of  the  very  real 
and  definite  pleasure  that  naturally  arises  from  the 
healthful  activity  of  all  our  powers,  while  a  life  of  ego- 
tism excludes  the  pleasures  of  sympathy  which  play  so 
large  a  part  in  human  happiness.  One  of  the  lessons 
3 


34  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

which  experience  most  clearly  teaches  is  that  work, 
duty  and  the  discipline  of  character  are  essential  ele- 
ments of  lasting  happiness.  The  pleasures  of  vice  are 
often  real,  but  they  are  commonly  transient  and  they 
leave  legacies  of  suffering,  weakness,  or  care  behind 
them.  The  nobler  pleasures  for  the  most  part  grow 
and  strengthen  with  advancing  years.  The  passions  of 
youth,  when  duly  regulated,  gradually  transform  them- 
selves into  habits,  interests  and  steady  affections,  and  it 
is  in  the  long  forecasts  of  life  that  the  superiority  of 
virtue  as  an  element  of  happiness  becomes  most  appa- 
rent. 

It  has  been  truly  said  that  such  words  as  '  pastime ' 
and  *  diversion  '  applied  to  our  pleasures  are  among  the 
most  melancholy  in  the  language,  for  they  are  the  con- 
fession of  human  nature  that  it  cannot  find  happiness 
in  itself,  but  must  seek  for  something  that  will  fill  up 
time,  will  cover  the  void  which  it  feels,  and  divert 
men's  thoughts  from  the  conditions  and  prospects  of 
their  own  lives.  How  much  of  the  pleasure  of  Society, 
and  indeed  of  all  amusements,  depends  on  their  power 
of  making  us  forget  ourselves  !  The  substratum  of  life 
is  sad,  and  few  men  who  reflect  on  the  dangers  and  un- 
certainties that  surround  it  can  find  it  even  tolerable 
without  much  extraneous  aid.  The  first  and  most  vital 
of  these  aids  is  to  be  found  in  the  creation  of  strong  in- 
terests. It  is  one  of  the  laws  of  our  being  that  by  seek- 
ing interests  rather  than  by  seeking  pleasures  we  can 
best  encounter  the  gloom  of  life.  But  those  only  have 
the  highest  efficiency  which  are  of  an  unselfish  nature. 
By  throwing  their  whole  nature  into  the  interests  of 
others  men  most  effectually  escape  the  melancholy  of 


UNSELFISHNESS  AND  HAPPINESS  35 

introspection  ;  the  horizon  of  life  is  enlarged  ;  the  de- 
velopment of  the  moral  and  sympathetic  feelings  chases 
egotistic  cares,  and  by  the  same  paradox  that  we  have 
seen  in  other  parts  of  human  nature  men  best  attain 
their  own  happiness  by  absorbing  themselves  in  the 
pursuit  of  the  happiness  of  others. 

The  aims  and  perspective  of  a  well-regulated  life  have 
never,  I  think,  been  better  described  than  in  one  of  the 
letters  of  Burke  to  the  Duke  of  Eichmond.  '  It  is  wise 
indeed,  considering  the  many  positive  vexations  and  the 
innumerable  bitter  disappointments  of  pleasure  in  the 
world,  to  have  as  many  resources  of  satisfaction  as  pos- 
sible within  one's  power.  "Whenever  we  concentre 
the  mind  on  one  sole  object,  that  object  and  life  itself 
must  go  together.  But  though  it  is  right  to  have  re- 
serves of  employment,  still  some  one  object  must  be 
kept  principal ;  greatly  and  eminently  so ;  and  the  other 
masses  and  figures  must  preserve  their  due  subordina- 
tion, to  make  out  the  grand  composition  of  an  impor- 
tant life. ' *  It  is  equally  true  that  among  these  objects 
the  disinterested  and  the  unselfish  should  hold  a  pre- 
dominant place.  "With  some  this  side  of  their  activity 
is  restricted  to  the  narrow  circle  of  home  or  to  the  iso- 
lated duties  and  charities  of  their  own  neighbourhood. 
With  others  it  takes  the  form  of  large  public  interests, 
of  a  keen  participation  in  social,  philanthropic,  politi- 
cal or  religious  enterprises.  Character  plays  a  larger 
part  than  intellect  in  the  happiness  of  life,  and  the  cul- 
tivation of  the  unselfish  part  of  our  nature  is  not  only 
one  of  the  first  lessons  of  morals  but  also  of  wisdom. 


Burke's  Correspondence,  i.  376,  877, 


36  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

Like  most  other  things  its  difficulties  lie  at  the  begin- 
ning, and  it  is  by  steady  practice  that  it  passes  into  a 
second  and  instinctive  nature.  The  power  of  man  to 
change  organieally  his  character  is  a  very  limited  one, 
but  on  the  whole  the  improvement  of  character  is  proba- 
bly more  within  his  reach  than  intellectual  develop- 
ment. Time  and  Opportunity  are  wanting  to  most  men 
for  any  considerable  intellectual  study,  and  even  were 
it  otherwise  every  man  will  find  large  tracts  of  know- 
ledge and  thought  wholly  external  to  his  tastes,  apti- 
tudes and  comprehension.  But  every  one  can  in  some 
measure  learn  the  lesson  of  self-sacrifice,  practise  what 
is  right,  correct  or  at  least  mitigate  his  dominant  faults. 
"What  fine  examples  of  self-sacrifice,  quiet  courage,  re- 
signation in  misfortune,  patient  performance  of  painful 
duty,  magnanimity  and  forgiveness  under  injury  may 
be  often  found  among  those  who  are  intellectually  the 
most  commonplace ! 

The  insidious  growth  of  selfishness  is  a  disease  against 
which  men  should  be  most  on  their  guard  ;  but  it  is 
a  grave  though  a  common  error  to  suppose  that  the 
unselfish  instincts  may  be  gratified  without  restraint. 
There  is  here,  however,  one  important  distinction  to  be 
noted.  The  many  and  great  evils  that  have  sprung 
from  lavish  and  ill-considered  charities  do  not  always 
or  perhaps  generally  spring  from  any  excess  or  extrava- 
gance of  the  charitable  feeling.  They  are  much  more 
commonly  due  to  its  defect.  The  rich  man  who  never 
cares  to  inquire  into  the  details  of  the  cases  that  are 
brought  before  him  or  to  give  any  serious  thought  to 
the  ulterior  consequences  of  his  acts,  but  who  is  ready 
to  give  money  at  any  solicitation  and  who  considers 


THE  ADMINISTRATION  OF  CHARITY  37 

that  by  so  doing  he  has  discharged  his  duty,  is  far  more 
likely  to  do  harm  in  this  way  than  the  man  who  de- 
votes himself  to  patient,  plodding,  house  to  house  work 
among  the  poor.  The  many  men  and  the  probably  still 
larger  number  of  women  who  give  up  great  portions  of 
their  lives  to  such  work  soon  learn  to  trace  with  consi- 
derable accuracy  the  consequences  of  their  charities  and 
to  discriminate  between  the  worthy  and  the  unworthy. 
That  such  persons  often  become  exclusive  and  one- 
sided, and  acquire  a  kind  of  professional  bent  which 
induces  them  to  subordinate  all  national  considerations 
to  their  own  subject  and  lose  sight  of  the  true  propor- 
tion of  things,  is  undoubtedly  true,  but  it  will  probably 
not  be  found  with  the  best  workers  that  such  a  life 
tends  to  unduly  intensify  emotion.  As  Bishop  Butler 
has  said  with  profound  truth,  active  habits  are  strength- 
ened and  passive  impressions  weakened  by  repetition, 
and  a  life  spent  in  active  charitable  work  is  quite  com- 
patible with  much  sobriety  and  even  coldness  of  judg- 
ment in  estimating  each  case  as  it  arises.  It  is  not  the 
surgeon  who  is  continually  employed  in  operations  for 
the  cure  of  his  patients  who  is  most  moved  at  the  sight 
of  suffering. 

This  is,  I  believe,  on  the  whole  true,  but  it  is  also 
true  that  there  are  grave  diseases  which  attach  them- 
selves peculiarly  to  the  unselfish  side  of  our  nature,  and 
they  are  peculiarly  dangerous  because  men,  feeling  that 
the  unselfish  is  the  virtuous  and  nobler  side  of  their 
being,  are  apt  to  suffer  these  tendencies  to  operate  with- 
out supervision  or  control.  Yet  it  is  hardly  possible  to 
exaggerate  the  calamities  that  have  sprung  from  mis- 
judged unselfish  actions.  The  whole  history  of  reli- 


38  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

gious  persecution  abundantly  illustrates  it,  for  there  can 
be  little  question  that  a  large  proportion  of  the  perse- 
cutors were  sincerely  seeking  what  they  believed  to  be 
the  highest  good  of  mankind.  And  if  this  dark  page 
of  human  history  is  now  almost  closed,  there  are  still 
many  other  ways  in  which  a  similar  evil  is  displayed. 
Crotchets,  sentimentalities  and  fanaticisms  cluster  espe- 
cially around  the  unselfish  side  of  our  nature,  and  they 
work  evil  in  many  curious  and  subtle  ways.  Few  things 
have  done  more  harm  in  the  world  than  disproportioned 
compassion.  It  is  a  law  of  our  being  that  we  are  only 
deeply  moved  by  sufferings  we  distinctly  realise,  and 
the  degrees  in  which  different  kinds  of  suffering  appeal 
to  the  imagination  bear  no  proportion  to  their  real 
magnitude.  The  most  benevolent  man  will  read  of  an 
earthquake  in  Japan  or  a  plague  in  South  America  with 
a  callousness  he  would  never  display  towards  some  un- 
timely death  or  some  painful  accident  in  his  immediate 
neighbourhood,  and  in  general  the  suffering  of  a  promi- 
nent and  isolated  individual  strikes  us  much  more  forci- 
bly than  that  of  an  undistinguished  multitude.  Few 
deaths  are  so  prominent,  and  therefore  few  produce 
such  widespread  compassion,  as  those  of  conspicuous 
criminals.  It  is  no  exaggeration  to  say  that  the  death 
of  an  'interesting'  murderer  will  often  arouse  much 
stronger  feelings  than  were  ever  excited  by  the  death 
of  his  victim  ;  or  by  the  deaths  of  brave  soldiers  who 
perished  by  disease  or  by  the  sword  in  some  obscure  expe- 
dition in  a  remote  country.  This  mode  of  judgment 
acts  promptly  upon  conduct.  The  humanitarian  spirit 
which  mitigates  the  penal  code  and  makes  the  reclama- 
tion of  the  criminal  a  main  object  is  a  perfectly  right 


DISPROPORTIONED  COMPASSION  39 

thing  as  long  as  it  does  not  so  far  diminish  the  deter- 
rent power  of  punishment  as  to  increase  crime,  and  as 
long  as  it  does  not  place  the  criminal  in  a  better  posi- 
tion of  comfort  than  the  blameless  poor,  but  when  these 
conditions  are  not  fulfilled  it  is  much  more  an  evil  than 
a  good.  The  remote,  indirect  and  unrealised  conse- 
quences of  our  acts  are  often  far  more  important  than 
those  which  are  manifest  and  direct,  and  it  continually 
happens  that  in  extirpating  some  concentrated  and  ob- 
trusive evil,  men  increase  or  engender  a  diffused  malady 
which  operates  over  a  far  wider  area.  How  few,  for  ex- 
ample, who  share  the  prevailing  tendency  to  deal  with 
every  evil  that  appears  in  Society  by  coercive  legislation 
adequately  realise  the  danger  of  weakening  the  robust, 
self-reliant,  resourceful  habits  on  which  the  happiness 
of  Society  so  largely  depends,  and  at  the  same  time,  by 
multiplying  the  functions  and  therefore  increasing  the 
expenses  of  government,  throwing  new  and  crushing 
burdens  on  struggling  industry  !  How  often  have  phi- 
lanthropists, through  a  genuine  interest  for  some  suf- 
fering class  or  people,  advocated  measures  which  by 
kindling,  prolonging,  or  enlarging  a  great  war  would 
infallibly  create  calamities  far  greater  than  those  which 
they  would  redress !  How  often  might  great  outbursts 
of  savage  crime  or  grave  and  lasting  disorders  in  the 
State,  or  international  conflicts  that  have  cost  thou- 
sands of  lives,  have  been  averted  by  a  prompt  and  un- 
flinching severity  from  which  an  ill-judged  humanity 
recoiled!  If  in  the  February  of  1848  Louis  Philippe 
had  permitted  Marshal  Bugeaud  to  fire  on  the  Revolu- 
tionary mob  at  a  time  when  there  was  no  real  and  wide- 
spread desire  for  revolution  in  France,  how  many  bloody 


40  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

pages  of  French  and  European  history  might  have  been 
spared ! 

Measures  guaranteeing  men,  and  still  more  women, 
from  excessive  labour,  and  surrounding  them  with 
costly  sanitary  precautions,  may  easily,  if  they  are  in- 
judiciously framed,  so  handicap  a  sex  or  a  people  in  the 
competition  of  industry  as  to  drive  them  out  of  great 
fields  of  industry,  restrict  their  means  of  livelihood, 
lower  their  standard  of  wages  and  comfort,  and  thus 
seriously  diminish  the  happiness  of  their  lives.  Inju- 
dicious suppressions  of  amusements  that  are  not  wholly 
good,  but  which  afford  keen  enjoyment  to  great  masses, 
seldom  fail  to  give  an  impulse  to  other  pleasures  more 
secret  and  probably  more  vicious.  Injudicious  chari- 
ties, or  an  extravagant  and  too  indulgent  poor  law  ad- 
ministration, inevitably  discourage  industry  and  thrift, 
and  usually  increase  the  poverty  they  were  intended  to 
cure.  The  parent  who  shrinks  from  inflicting  any  suf- 
fering on  his  child,  or  withholding  from  him  any  plea- 
sure that  he  desires,  is  not  laying  the  foundation  of  a 
happy  life,  and  the  benevolence  which  counteracts  or 
obscures  the  law  of  nature  that  extravagance,  improvi- 
dence and  vice  lead  naturally  to  ruin,  is  no  real  kind- 
ness either  to  the  upright  man  who  has  resisted  temp- 
tation or  to  the  weak  man  whose  virtue  is  trembling 
doubtfully  in  the  balance.  Nor  is  it  in  the  long  run 
for  the  benefit  of  the  world  that  superior  ability  or 
superior  energy  or  industry  should  be  handicapped  in 
the  race  of  life,  forbidden  to  encounter  exceptional  risks 
for  the  sake  of  exceptional  rewards,  reduced  by  regula- 
tions to  measures  of  work  and  gain  intended  for  the 
benefit  of  inferior  characters  or  powers. 


ILL-CONSIDEBED   BENEVOLENCE  41 

The  fatal  vice  of  ill-considered  benevolence  is  that  it 
looks  only  to  proximate  and  immediate  results  without 
considering  either  alternatives  or  distant  and  indirect 
consequences.  A  large  and  highly  respectable  form  of 
benevolence  is  that  connected  with  the  animal  world, 
and  in  England  it  is  carried  in  some  respects  to  a  point 
which  is  unknown  on  the  Continent.  But  what  a 
strange  form  of  compassion  is  that  which  long  made  it 
impossible  to  establish  a  Pasteur  Institute  in  England, 
obliging  patients  threatened  with  one  of  the  most  hor- 
rible diseases  that  can  afflict  mankind  to  go — as  they 
are  always  ready  to  do — to  Paris,  in  order  to  undergo  a 
treatment  which  what  is  called  the  humane  sentiment 
of  Englishmen  forbid  them  to  receive  at  home !  What 
a  strange  form  of  benevolence  is  that  which  in  a  country 
where  field  sports  are  the  habitual  amusement  of  the 
higher  ranks  of  Society  denounces  as  criminal  even  the 
most  carefully  limited  and  supervised  experiments  on 
living  animals,  and  would  thus  close  the  best  hope  of 
finding  remedies  for  some  of  the  worst  forms  of  human 
suffering,  the  one  sure  method  of  testing  supposed  reme- 
dies which  may  be  fatal  or  which  may  be  of  incalcu- 
lable benefit  to  mankind  !  Foreign  critics,  indeed,  often 
go  much  further  and  believe  that  in  other  forms  con. 
nected  with  this  subject  public  opinion  in  England  is 
strangely  capricious  and  inconsistent.  They  compare 
with  astonishment  the  sentences  that  are  sometimes 
passed  for  the  ill-treatment  of  a  women  and  for  the  ill- 
treatment  of  a  cat ;  they  ask  whether  the  real  sufferings 
caused  by  many  things  that  are  in  England  punished 
by  law  or  reprobated  by  opinion  are  greater  than  those 
caused  by  sports  which  are  constantly  practised  without 


42  THE   MAP  OF  LIFE 

reproach  ;  and  they  are  apt  to  find  much  that  is  exag- 
gerated or  even  fantastic  in  the  great  popularity  and 
elaboration  of  some  animal  charities.1  At  the  same  time 
in  our  own  country  the  more  recognised  field  sports 
greatly  trouble  many  benevolent  natures.  I  will  here 
only  say  that  while  the  positive  benefits  they  produce  are 
great  and  manifest,  those  who  condemn  them  constantly 
forget  what  would  be  the  fate  of  the  animals  that  are 
slaughtered  if  such  sports  did  not  exist,  and  how  little 
the  balance  of  suffering  is  increased  or  altered  by  the 
destruction  of  beings  which  themselves  live  by  destroy- 
ing. As  a  poet  says — 

The  fish  exult  whene'er  the  seagull  dies, 
The  salmon's  death  preserves  a  thousand  flies. 

On  most  of  these  questions  the  effect  on  human  cha- 
racter is  a  more  important  consideration  than  the  effect 
on  animal  happiness.  The  best  thing  that  legislation 
can  do  for  wild  animals  is  to  extend  as  far  as  possible  to 
harmless  classes  a  close  time,  securing  them  immunity 

1  As  I  am  writing  these  pages  and  have  as  a  digestive  eggs 
I  find  the  following  paragraph  beaten  up  in  milk  and  arrow- 
in  a  newspaper  which  may  illus-  root.  Medicated  baths  and 
trate  my  meaning :  —  '  DOGS'  tonics  are  also  supplied,  and 
NURSING.  A  case  was  heard  occasionally  the  animals  are 
at  the  Brompton  County  Court  treated  to  a  day  in  the  country, 
on  Friday  in  which  some  sug-  This  course  of  hygiene  necessi- 
gestive  evidence  was  given  of  tated  an  expenditure  of  ten 
the  medical  treatment  of  dogs,  shillings  a  week.  The  defen- 
The  proprietor  of  a  dogs'  infir-  dant  pleaded  that  the  charges 
mary  at  Tattersall's  Corner  sued  were  excessive,  but  the  judge 
Mr.  Harding  Cox  for  the  board  awarded  the  plaintiff  £25.  How 
and  lodging  of  seven  dogs,  and  many  hospital  patients  receive 
the  regime  was  explained.  They  such  treatment?' — Daily  E& 
are  fed  on  essence  of  meat,  press,  February  16,  1897. 
washed  down  with  port  wine, 


TREATMENT  OF  ANIMALS  43 

while  they  are  producing  and  supporting  their  young. 
This  is  the  truest  kindness,  and  on  quite  other  grounds 
it  is  peculiarly  needed,  as  the  improvement  of  firearms 
and  the  increase  of  population  have  completely  altered, 
as  far  as  man  is  concerned,  the  old  balance  between  pro- 
duction and  destruction,  and  threaten,  if  unchecked,  to 
lead  to  an  almost  complete  extirpation  of  great  classes 
of  the  animal  world.  It  is  melancholy  to  observe  how 
often  sensitive  women  who  object  to  field  sports  and 
who  denounce  all  experiments  on  living  animals  will 
be  found  supporting  with  perfect  callousness  fashions 
that  are  leading  to  the  wholesale  destruction  of  some  of 
the  most  beautiful  species  of  birds,  and  are  in  some 
cases  dependent  upon  acts  of  very  aggravated  cruelty. 


44  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 


THE  illustrations  given  in  the  last  chapter  will  be  suf- 
ficient to  show  the  danger  of  permitting  the  unselfish 
side  of  human  nature  to  run  wild  without  serious  con- 
trol by  the  reason  and  by  the  will.  To  see  things  in 
their  true  proportion,  to  escape  the  magnifying  influ- 
ence of  a  morbid  imagination,  should  be  one  of  the  chief 
aims  of  life,  and  in  no  fields  is  it  more  needed  than  in 
those  we  have  been  reviewing.  At  the  same  time  every 
age  has  its  own  ideal  moral  type  towards  which  the 
strongest  and  best  influences  of  the  time  converge.  The 
history  of  morals  is  essentially  a  history  of  the  changes 
that  take  place  not  so  much  in  our  conception  of  what 
is  right  and  wrong  as  in  the  proportionate  place  and 
prominence  we  assign  to  different  virtues  and  vices. 
There  are  large  groups  of  moral  qualities  which  in  some 
ages  of  the  world's  history  have  been  regarded  as  of  su- 
preme importance,  while  in  other  ages  they  are  thrown 
into  the  background,  and  there  are  corresponding 
groups  "of  vices  which  are  treated  in  some  periods  as 
very  serious  and  in  others  as  very  trivial.  The  heroic 
type  of  Paganism  and  the  saintly  type  of  Christianity 
in  its  purest  form,  consist  largely  of  the  same  elements, 
but  the  proportions  in  which  they  are  mixed  are  alto- 
gether different.  There  are  ages  when  the  military  and 
civic  virtues — the  qualities  that  make  good  soldiers  and 
patriotic  citizens — dominate  over  all  others.  The  self- 


DIFFERENCES  OF  MORAL  TYPE  45 

sacrifice  of  the  best  men  flows  habitually  in  these  chan- 
nels. In  such  an  age  integrity  in  business  relations  and 
the  domestic  virtues  which  maintain  the  purity  of  the 
family  may  be  highly  valued,  but  they  are  chiefly  valued 
because  they  are  essential  to  the  well-being  of  the  State. 
The  soldier  who  has  attained  to  the  highest  degree  the 
best  qualities  of  his  profession,  the  patriot  who  sacri- 
fices to  the  services  of  the  State  his  comforts,  his  am- 
bitions and  his  life,  is  the  supreme  model,  and  the  esti- 
mation in  which  he  is  held  is  but  little  lowered  even 
though  he  may  have  been  guilty,  like  Cato,  of  atro- 
cious cruelty  to  his  slaves,  or,  like  some  of  the  heroes  of 
ancient  times,  of  scandalous  forms  of  private  profligacy. 
There  are  other  ages  in  which  military  life  is  looked 
upon  by  moralists  with  disfavour,  and  in  which  patri- 
otism ranks  very  low  in  the  scale  of  virtues,  while  charity, 
gentleness,  self-abnegation,  devotional  habits,  and  pu- 
rity in  thought,  word  and  act  are  pre-eminently  incul- 
cated. The  intellectual  virtues,  again,  which  deal  with 
truth  and  falsehood,  form  a  distinct  group.  The  habit 
of  mind  which  makes  men  love  truth  for  its  own  sake 
as  the  supreme  ideal,  and  which  turns  aside  from  all 
falsehood,  exaggeration,  party  or  sectarian  misrepresen- 
tation and  invention,  is  in  no  age  a  common  one,  but 
there  are  some  ages  in  which  it  is  recognised  and  incul- 
cated as  virtue,  while  there  are  others  in  which  it  is  no 
exaggeration  to  say  that  the  whole  tendency  of  religious 
teaching  has  been  to  discourage  it.  During  many  cen- 
turies the  ascetic  and  purely  ecclesiastical  standard  of 
virtue  completely  dominated.  The  domestic  virtues, 
though  clearly  recognised,  held  altogether  a  subordinate 
place  to  what  were  deemed  the  higher  virtues  of  the 


46  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

ascetic  celibate.  Charity,  though  nobly  cultivated  and 
practised,  was  regarded  mainly  through  a  dogmatic 
medium  and  practised  less  for  the  benefit  of  the  recipi- 
ent than  for  the  spiritual  welfare  of  the  donor. 

In  the  eyes  of  multitudes  the  highest  conception  of  a 
saintly  life  consisted  largely  if  not  mainly  in  complete 
detachment  from  secular  interests  and  affections.  No 
type  was  more  admired,  and  no  type  was  ever  more  com- 
pletely severed  from  all  active  duties  and  all  human  re- 
lations than  that  of  the  saint  of  the  desert  or  of  the 
monk  of  one  of  the  contemplative  orders.  To  die  to 
the  world  ;  to  become  indifferent  to  its  aims,  interests 
and  pleasures  ;  to  measure  all  things  by  a  standard 
wholly  different  from  human  happiness,  to  live  habitu- 
ally for  another  life  was  the  constant  teaching  of  the 
saints.  In  the  stress  laid  on  the  cultivation  of  the  spi- 
ritual life  the  whole  sphere  of  active  duties  sank  into  a 
lower  plane  ;  and  the  eye  of  the  mind  was  turned  up- 
wards and  inwards  and  but  little  on  the  world  around. 
'Happy,'  said  one  saint,  'is  the  mind  which  sees  but 
two  objects,  God  and  self,  one  of  which  conceptions  fills 
it  with  a  sovereign  delight  and  the  other  abases  it  to  the 
extremest  dejection.' l  '  As  much  love  as  we  give  to 
creatures,'  said  another  saint,  'just  so  much  we  steal 
from  the  Creator.'2  '  Two  things  only  do  I  ask,'  said 
a  third,3  'to  suffer  and  to  die.'  'Forsake  all,'  said 
Thomas  a  Kempis,  '  and  thou  shalt  find  all.  Leave  de- 
sire and  thou  shalt  find  rest.'  '  Unless  a  man  be  dis- 
engaged from  the  affection  of  all  creatures  he  cannot 
with  freedom  of  mind  attend  unto  Divine  things.' 


1  St.  Francis  de  Sales.        *  St.  Philip  Neri.        » St.  Teresa. 


CATHOLIC  TYPES  OF  MORALS  47 

The  gradual,  silent  and  half-unconscious  modification 
in  the  type  of  Morals  which  took  place  after  the  Ee- 
formation  was  certainly  not  the  least  important  of  its 
results.  If  it  may  be  traced  in  some  degree  to  the  dis- 
tinctive theology  of  the  Protestant  Churches,  it  was  per- 
haps still  more  due  to  the  abolition  of  clerical  celibacy 
which  placed  the  religious  teachers  in  the  centre  of 
domestic  life  and  in  close  contact  with  a  large  circle  of 
social  duties.  There  is  even  now  a  distinct  difference 
between  the  morals  of  a  sincerely  Catholic  and  a  sin- 
cerely Protestant  country,  and  this  difference  is  not  so 
much,  as  controversialists  would  tell  us,  in  the  greater 
and  the  less  as  in  the  moral  type,  or,  in  other  words,  in 
the  different  degrees  of  importance  attached  to  different 
virtues  and  vices.  Probably  nowhere  in  the  world  can 
more  beautiful  and  more  reverent  types  be  found  than 
in  some  of  the  Catholic  countries  of  Europe  which  are 
but  little  touched  by  the  intellectual  movements  of  the 
age,  but  no  good  observer  can  fail  to  notice  how  much 
larger  is  the  place  given  to  duties  which  rest  wholly  on 
theological  considerations,  and  how  largely  even  the 
natural  duties  are  based  on  such  considerations  and  go- 
verned, limited,  and  sometimes  even  superseded  by  them. 
The  ecclesiastics  who  at  the  Council  of  Constance  in- 
duced Sigismund  to  violate  the  safe-conduct  he  had 
given,  and,  in  spite  of  his  solemn  promise,  to  condemn 
Huss  to  a  death  of  fire,1  and  the  ecclesiastics  who  at  the 


1  'Cum  dictus  Johannes  Hus  vino  vel  humano,  fuerit  inprae- 

fidem  orthodoxam  pertinaciter  judicium  Catholicae  fidei  obser- 

impugnans,    se  ab   omni    con  vanda.'       Declaration    of    the 

ductu  et  privilegio  reddiderit  Council    of    Constance.      See 

alienum,  nee  aliquasibi  fides  aut  Creigh ton's  History  of  the  Pa- 

promissio  de  jure  naturali  di-  pacy,  ii.  32. 


48  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

Diet  of  "Worms  vainly  tried  to  induce  Charles  V.  to  act 
with  a  similar  perfidy  towards  Luther,  represent  a  con- 
ception of  morals  which  is  abundantly  prevalent  in  our 
day.  It  is  no  exaggeration  to  say  that  in  Catholic  coun- 
tries the  obligation  of  truthfulness  in  cases  in  which  it 
conflicts  with  the  interests  of  the  Church  rests  wholly 
on  the  basis  of  honour,  and  not  at  all  on  the  basis  of 
religion.  In  the  estimates  of  Catholic  rulers  no  impar- 
tial observer  can  fail  to  notice  how  their  attitude  towards 
the  interest  of  the  Church  dominates  over  all  considera- 
tions of  public  and  private  morals. 

In  past  ages  this  was  much  more  the  case.  The 
Church  filled  in  the  minds  of  men  a  place  at  least  equal 
to  that  of  the  State  in  the  Roman  Republic.  Men  who 
had  made  great  sacrifices  for  it  and  rendered  great  ser- 
vices to  it  were  deemed,  beyond  all  others,  the  good 
men,  and  in  those  men  things  which  we  should  regard 
as  grossly  criminal  appeared  mere  venial  frailties.  Let 
any  one  who  doubts  this  study  the  lives  of  the  early 
Catholic  saints,  and  the  still  more  instructive  pages  in 
which  Gregory  of  Tours  and  other  ecclesiastical  anna- 
lists have  described  the  characters  and  acts  of  the  more 
prominent  figures  in  the  secular  history  of  their  times, 
and  he  will  soon  feel  that  he  has  passed  into  a  moral 
atmosphere  and  is  dealing  with  moral  measurements 
and  perspectives  wholly  unlike  those  of  our  own  day.1 

In  highly  civilised  ages  the  same  spirit  may  be  clearly 
traced.  Bossuet  was  certainly  no  hypocrite  or  syco- 
phant, but  a  man  of  austere  virtue  and  undoubted  cou- 
rage. He  did  not  hesitate  to  rebuke  the  gross  profligacy 

1 1  have  collected  some  illustrations  of  this  in  my  History  of 
European  Morals,  ii.  235-342. 


CATHOLIC  TYPES  OF  MORALS         49 

of  the  life  of  Louis  XIV.,  and  although  neither  he  nor 
any  of  the  other  Catholic  divines  of  his  age  seriously 
protested  against  the  wars  of  pure  egotism  and  ostenta- 
tion which  made  that  sovereign  the  scourge  of  Europe 
and  brought  down  upon  his  people  calamities  immeasu- 
rably greater  than  the  faults  of  his  private  life — although, 
indeed,  he  has  spoken  of  those  wars  in  language  of  rap- 
turous and  unqualified  eulogy1 — he  had  at  least  the 
grace  to  devote  a  chapter  of  his  '  Politique  tiree  de 
1'Ecriture  Sainte  '  to  the  theme  that '  God  does  not  love 
war.'  But  in  the  eyes  of  Bossuet  the  dominant  fact  in 
the  life  of  Louis  XIV.  was  the  Kevocation  of  the  Edict 
of  Nantes  and  the  savage  persecution  of  the  Huguenots, 
and  this  was  sufficient  to  place  him  among  the  best  of 
sovereigns.2 

To  those  who  will  candidly  consider  the  subject  there 
is  nothing  in  this  which  need  excite  surprise.  The  doc- 
trine that  the  Catholic  Church  is  the  inspired  guide, 
representing  the  voice  of  the  Divinity  on  earth  and  de- 
ciding with  absolute  authority  all  questions  of  right  and 
wrong,  very  naturally  led  to  the  conviction  that  no- 
thing which  was  conducive  to  its  interests  could  be  really 


1  See,  e.g.  his  funeral  oration  trente  Peres    dirent   autrefois 

on  Marie  Therese  d'Autriche.  dans  le  Concile  de  Chalcedoine : 

*  See  the  enthusiastic  eulogy  "  Vous  avez  affermi  la  foi ;  vous 

of  the  persecution  of  the  Hu-  avez  extermine  les  heretiques  ; 

guenots  in  his  funeral  oration  c'est  le  digne  ouvrage  de  votre 

on  Michel  le  Tellier.     It  con-  regne  ;  e'en  est  le  propre  carac- 

cludes:  'Epanchons  nos  coeurs  tere.     Par  vous  l'he*resie  n'est 

sur  la  piete  de  Louis ;  poussons  plus,  Dieu  seul  a  pu  faire  cette 

jusqu'au  ciel  nos  acclamations,  merveille.     Roi  du  ciel,  conser- 

et  disons  a  ce  nouveau  Constan-  vez  le  roi  de  la  terre  ;  c'est  le 

tin,  a  ce  nouveau  Theodose,  a  ce  voeu  des  Eglises  ;  c'est  le  vceu 

nouveau  Marcien,  a  ce  nouveau  des  Eveques." ' 
Charlemagne  ce  que  les  six  cent 


50  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

criminal,  and  in  all  departments  of  morals  it  regulated 
the  degrees  of  praise  and  blame.  The  doctrine  which 
is  still  so  widely  professed  but  now  so  faintly  realised, 
that  the  first  essential  to  salvation  is  orthodox  belief, 
placed  conduct  on  a  lower  plane  of  importance  than 
dogma,  while  the  conviction  that  it  is  in  the  power  of 
man  to  obtain  absolute  certainty  in  religious  belief,  that 
erroneous  belief  is  in  the  eyes  of  the  Almighty  a  crime 
bringing  with  it  eternal  damnation,  and  that  the  teacher 
of  heresy  is  the  greatest  enemy  of  mankind,  at  once  jus- 
tified in  the  eyes  of  the  believer  acts  which  now  seem 
the  gravest  moral  aberrations.  Many  baser  motives  and 
elements  no  doubt  mingled  with  the  long  and  hideous 
history  of  the  religious  persecutions  of  Christendom,  but 
in  the  eyes  of  countless  conscientious  men  this  teaching 
seemed  amply  sufficient  to  justify  them  and  to  stifle  all 
feeling  of  compassion  for  the  victims.  Much  the  same 
considerations  explain  the  absolute  indifference  with 
which  so  many  good  men  witnessed  those  witch  perse- 
cutions which  consigned  thousands  of  old,  feeble  and 
innocent  women  to  torture  and  to  death. 

Other  illustrations  of  a  less  tragical  kind  might  be 
given.  Thus  in  cases  of  child-birth  the  physician  is 
sometimes  placed  in  the  alternative  of  sacrificing  the 
life  of  the  mother  or  of  the  unborn  child.  In  such 
cases  a  Protestant  or  freethinking  physician  would  not 
hesitate  to  save  the  adult  life  as  by  far  the  most  valu- 
able. The  Catholic  doctrine  is  that  under  such  circum- 
stances the  first  duty  of  the  physician  is  to  save  the  life 
of  the  unbaptized  child.1  Large  numbers  of  commer- 

1  See  Migne,  Encyclopedia  TMologique,  '  Diet,  de  Gas  de 
Conscience,  art.  Avortement. 


PROFANE  SWEARING  51 

cial  transactions  which  are  now  universally  acknow- 
ledged to  be  perfectly  innocent  and  useful  would  during 
a  long  period  have  been  prohibited  on  account  of  the 
Catholic  doctrine  of  usury  which  condemned  as  sinful 
even  the  most  moderate  interest  on  money  if  it  was  ex- 
acted as  the  price  of  the  loan.1 

Every  religious  and  indeed  every  philosophical  system 
that  has  played  a  great  part  in  the  history  of  the  world 
has  a  tendency  either  to  form  or  to  assimilate  with  a 
particular  moral  type,  and  in  the  eyes  of  a  large  and 
growing  number  it  is  upon  the  excellency  of  this  type, 
and  upon  its  success  in  producing  it,  that  its  superiority 
mainly  depends.  The  superstructure  or  scaffolding  of 
belief  around  which  it  is  formed  appears  to  them  of 
comparatively  little  moment,  and  it  is  not  uncommon 
to  find  men  ardently  devoted  to  a  particular  type  long 
after  they  have  discarded  the  tenets  with  which  it  was 
once  connected.  Carlyle,  for  example,  sometimes  spoke 
of  himself  as  a  Calvinist,  and  used  language  both  in 
public  and  private  as'.if  there  was  no  important  differ- 
ence between  himself  and  the  most  orthodox  Puritans, 
yet  it  is  very  evident  that  he  disbelieved  nearly  all  the 
articles  of  their  creed.  What  he  meant  was  that  Cal- 
vinism had  produced  in  all  countries  in  which  it  really 
dominated  a  definite  type  of  character  and  conception 
of  morals  which  was  in  his  eyes  the  noblest  that  had  yet 
appeared  in  the  world. 

' 'Above  all  tilings,  my  brethren,  swear  not.'  If,  as 
is  generally  assumed,  this  refers  to  the  custom  of  using 
profane  oaths  in  common  conversation,  how  remote 

1  See  on  this  subject  my  History  of  Rationalism,  ii.  250-270, 
and  my  Democracy  and  Liberty,  ii. ,  ch.  viii. 


52  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

from  modern  ideas  is  the  place  assigned  to  this  vice, 
which  perhaps  affects  human  happiness  as  little  as  any 
other  that  can  be  mentioned,  in  the  scale  of  criminality, 
and  how  curiously  characteristic  is  the  fact  that  the  vice 
to  which  this  supremacy  of  enormity  is  attributed  con- 
tinued to  be  prevalent  during  the  ages  when  theological 
influences  were  most  powerful,  and  has  in  all  good  soci- 
ety faded  away  in  simple  obedience  to  a  turn  of  fashion 
which  proscribes  it  as  ungentlemanly !  For  a  long 
period  Acts  condemning  it  were  read  at  stated  periods 
in  the  churches,1  and  one  of  these  described  it  as  likely, 
by  provoking  God's  wrath,  to  '  increase  the  many  calami- 
ties these  nations  now  labour  under.'  How  curiously 
characteristic  is  the  restriction  in  common  usage  of  the 
term  *  immoral '  to  a  single  vice,  so  that  a  man  who  is 
untruthful,  selfish,  cruel,  or  intemperate  might  still  be 
said  to  have  led  '  a  moral  life '  because  he  was  blameless 
in  the  relations  of  the  sexes  !  In  the  estimates  of  the 
character  of  public  men  the  same  disproportionate 
judgment  may  be  constantly  found  in  the  comparative 
stress  placed  upon  private  faults  and  the  most  gigantic 
public  crimes.  Errors  of  judgment  are  not  errors  of 
morals,  but  any  public  man  who,  through  selfish,  am- 
bitious, or  party  motives,  plunges  or  helps  to  plunge 
his  country  into  an  unrighteous  or  unnecessary  war, 
subordinates  public  interest  to  his  personal  ambition, 


1  21  James  I.  c.  20 ;  19  Geo.  had  before  fallen  into  desue- 

II.  c.  21.    The  penalties,  how-  tude.     In  1772  a  vicar  was  (as 

ever,  were  fines,  the  pillory,  or  an  act  of    private  vengeance) 

short  periods  of  imprisonment,  prosecuted  and  fined  for  having 

The  obligation  of  reading  the  neglected  to  read  it.     (Annual 

statute  in  churches  was  abo-  Register,  1772,  p.  115.,) 
lished  in  1823,  but  the  custom 


CHARACTERISTICS  OF  MODERN  MORALS     53 

employs  himself  in  stimulating  class,  national,  or  pro- 
vincial hatreds,  lowers  the  moral  standard  of  public  life, 
or  supports  a  legislation  which  he  knows  to  tend  to 
or  facilitate  dishonesty,  is  committing  a  crime  before 
which,  if  it  be  measured  by  its  consequences,  the 
gravest  acts  of  mere  private  immorality  dwindle  into 
insignificance.  Yet  how  differently  in  the  case  of  bril- 
liant and  successful  politicians  are  such  things  treated 
in  the  judgment  of  contemporaries,  and  sometimes  even 
in  the  judgments  of  history  ! 

It  is,  I  think,  a  peculiarity  of  modern  times  that  the 
chief  moral  influences  are  much  more  various  and  com- 
plex than  in  the  past.  There  is  no  such  absolute  em- 
pire as  that  which  was  exercised  over  character  by  the 
State  in  some  periods  of  Pagan  antiquity  and  by  the 
Church  during  the  Middle  Ages.  Our  civilisation  is 
more  than  anything  else  an  industrial  civilisation,  and 
industrial  habits  are  probably  the  strongest  in  form- 
ing the  moral  type  to  which  public  opinion  aspires. 
Slavery,  which  threw  a  deep  discredit  on  industry  and 
on  the  qualities  it  fosters,  has  passed  away.  The  feudal 
system,  which  placed  industry  in  an  inferior  position, 
has  been  abolished,  and  the  strong  modern  tendency  to 
diminish  both  the  privileges  and  the  exclusiveness  of 
rank  and  to  increase  the  importance  of  wealth  is  in  the 
same  direction.  An  industrial  society  has  its  special 
vices  and  failings,  but  it  naturally  brings  into  the  bold- 
est relief  the  moral  qualities  which  industry  is  most 
fitted  to  foster  and  on  which  it  most  largely  depends, 
and  it  also  gives  the  whole  tone  of  moral  thinking  a 
utilitarian  character.  It  is  not  Christianity  but  Indus- 
trialism that  has  brought  into  the  world  that  strong 


54:  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

sense  of  the  moral  value  of  thrift,  steady  industry, 
punctuality  in  observing  engagements,  constant  fore- 
thought with  a  view  to  providing  for  the  contingencies 
of  the  future,  which  is  now  so  characteristic  of  the 
moral  type  of  the  most  civilised  nations. 

Many  other  influences,  however,  have  contributed  to 
intensify,  qualify,  or  impair  the  industrial  type.  Pro- 
testantism has  disengaged  primitive  Christian  ethics 
from  a  crowd  of  superstitious  and  artificial  duties  which 
had  overlaid  them,  and  a  similar  process  has  been  going 
on  in  Catholic  countries  under  the  influence  of  the 
rationalising  and  sceptical  spirit.  The  influence  of 
dogmatic  theology  on  Morals  has  declined.  Out  of  the 
vast  and  complex  religious  systems  of  the  past,  an  eclec- 
tic spirit  is  bringing  into  special  and  ever-increasing 
prominence  those  Christian  virtues  which  are  most 
manifestly  in  accordance  with  natural  religion  and 
most  clearly  conducive  to  the  well-being  of  men  upon 
the  earth.  Philanthropy  or  charity,  which  forms  the 
centre  of  the  system,  has  also  been  immensely  intensi- 
fied by  increased  knowledge  and  realisation  of  the  wants 
and  sorrows  of  others  ;  by  the  sensitiveness  to  pain,  by 
the  softening  of  manners  and  the  more  humane  and 
refined  tastes  and  habits  which  a  highly  elaborated  in- 
tellectual civilisation  naturally  produces.  The  sense  of 
duty  plays  a  great  part  in  modern  philanthropy,  and 
lower  motives  of  ostentation  or  custom  mingle  largely 
with  the  genuine  kindliness  of  feeling  that  inspires  it ; 
but  on  the  whole  it  is  probable  that  men  in  our  day,  in 
doing  good  to  others,  look  much  more  exclusively  than 
in  the  past  to  the  benefit  of  the  recipient  and  much  less 
to  some  reward  for  their  acts  in  a  future  world.  As 


JUDGMENTS  OF  RIGHT  AND  WRONG  55 

long,  too,  as  this  benefit  is  attained,  they  will  gladly 
diminish  as  much  as  possible  the  self-sacrifice  it  entails. 
An  eminently  characteristic  feature  of  modern  philan- 
thropy is  its  close  connection  with  amusements.  There 
was  a  time  when  a  great  philanthropic  work  would  be 
naturally  supported  by  an  issue  of  indulgences  promis- 
ing specific  advantages  in  another  world  to  all  who  took 
part  in  it.  In  our  own  generation  balls,  bazaars,  the- 
atrical or  other  amusements  given  for  the  benefit  of  the 
charity,  occupy  an  almost  corresponding  place. 

At  the  same  time  increasing  knowledge,  and  espe- 
cially the  kind  of  knowledge  which  science  gives,  has 
in  other  ways  largely  affected  our  judgments  of  right 
and  wrong.  The  mental  discipline,  the  habits  of  sound 
and  accurate  reasoning,  the  distrust  of  mere  authority 
and  of  untested  assertions  and  traditions  that  science 
tends  to  produce,  all  stimulate  the  intellectual  virtues, 
and  science  has  done  much  to  rectify  the  chart  of  life, 
pointing  out  more  clearly  the  true  conditions  of  human 
well-being  and  disclosing  much  baselessness  and  many 
errors  in  the  teaching  of  the  past.  It  cannot,  however, 
be  said  that  the  civic  or  the  military  influences  have  de- 
clined. If  the  State  does  not  hold  altogether  the  same 
place  as  in  Pagan  antiquity,  it  is  at  least  certain  that  in 
a  democratic  age  public  interests  are  enormously  promi- 
nent in  the  lives  of  men,  and  there  is  a  growing  and 
dangerous  tendency  to  aggrandise  the  influence  of  the 
State  over  the  individual,  while  modern  militarism  is 
drawing  the  flower  of  Continental  Europe  into  its  circle 
and  making  military  education  one  of  the  most  power- 
ful influences  in  the  formation  of  characters  and  ideals. 

I  do  not  believe  that  the  world  will  ever  greatly  differ 


56  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

about  the  essential  elements  of  right  and  wrong.  These 
things  lie  deep  in  human  nature  and  in  the  fundamen- 
tal conditions  of  human  life.  The  changes  that  are 
taking  place,  and  which  seem  likely  to  strengthen  in 
the  future,  lie  chiefly  in  the  importance  attached  to 
different  qualities. 

What  seems  to  be  useless  self-sacrifice  and  unnecessary 
suffering  is  as  much  as  possible  avoided.  The  strain 
of  sentiment  which  valued  suffering  in  itself  as  an  ex- 
piatory thing,  as  a  mode  of  following  the  Man  of  Sor- 
rows, as  a  thing  to  be  for  its  own  sake  embraced  and 
dwelt  upon,  and  prolonged,  bears  a  very  great  part  in 
some  of  the  most  beautiful  Christian  lives,  and  espe- 
cially in  those  which  were  formed  under  the  influence 
of  the  Catholic  Church.  An  old  legend  tells  how 
Christ  once  appeared  as  a  Man  of  Sorrows  to  a  Catholic 
Saint,  and  asked  him  what  boon  he  would  most  desire. 
'  Lord,'  was  the  reply,  '  that  I  might  suffer  most.'  This 
strain  runs  deeply  through  the  whole  ascetic  literature 
and  the  whole  monastic  system  of  Catholicism,  and  out- 
side Catholicism  it  has  been  sometimes  shown  by  a  re- 
luctance to  accept  the  aid  of  anaesthetics,  which  partially 
or  wholly  removed  suffering  supposed  to  have  been  sent 
by  Providence.  The  history  of  the  use  of  chloroform 
furnishes  striking  illustrations  of  this.  Many  of  my 
readers  may  remember  the  French  monks  who  devoted 
themselves  to  cultivating  one  of  the  most  pestilential 
spots  in  the  Roman  Campagna,  which  was  associated 
with  an  ecclesiastical  legend,  and  who  quite  unneces- 
sarily insisted  on  remaining  there  during  the  season 
when  such  a  residence  meant  little  less  than  a  slow 
suicide.  They  had,  as  they  were  accustomed  to  say, 


CHANGED  ESTIMATE  OF  SUFFERING 


57 


their  purgatory  upon  earth,  and  they  remained  till  their 
constitutions  were  hopelessly  shattered  and  they  were 
sent  to  die  in  their  own  land.  Touching  examples 
might  be  found  in  modern  times  of  men  who,  in  the 
last  extremes  of  disease  or  suffering,  scrupled,  through 
religious  motives,  about  availing  themselves  of  the  sim- 
plest alleviations,1  and  something  of  the  same  feeling 
is  shown  in  the  desire  to  prolong  to  the  last  possible 
moment  hopeless  and  agonising  disease.  All  this  is 
manifestly  and  rapidly  disappearing.  To  endure  with 
patience  and  resignation  inevitable  suffering  ;  to  en- 
counter courageously  dangers  and  suffering  for  some 
worthy  and  useful  end,  ranks,  indeed,  as  high  as  it  ever 


1  The  following  beautiful  pas- 
sage from  a  funeral  sermon  by 
Newman  is  an  example  :  '  One 
should  have  thought  that  a  life 
so  innocent,  so  active,  so  holy, 
I  might  say  so  faultless  from 
first  to  last,  might  have  been 
spared  the  visitation  of  any  long 
and  severe  penance  to  bring  it 
to  an  end  ;  but  in  order  doubt- 
less to  show  us  how  vile  and 
miserable  the  best  of  us  are  in 
ourselves  .  .  .  and  moreover  to 
give  us  a  pattern  how  to  bear 
suffering  ourselves,  and  to  in- 
crease the  merits  and  to  hasten 
and  brighten  the  crown  of  this 
faithful  servant  of  his  Lord,  it 
pleased  Almighty  God  to  send 
upon  him  a  disorder  which  du- 
ring the  last  six  years  fought 
with  him,  mastered  him,  and  at 
length  has  destroyed  him,  so  far, 
that  is,  as  death  now  has  power 
to  destroy  ....  It  is  for  those 
who  came  near  him  year  after 


year  to  store  up  the  many  words 
and  deeds  of  resignation,  love 
and  humility  which  that  long 
penance  elicited.  These  meri- 
torious acts  are  written  in  the 
Book  of  Life,  and  they  have 
followed  him  whither  he  is 
gone.  They  multiplied  and  grew 
in  strength  and  perfection  as  his 
trial  proceeded ;  and  they  were 
never  so  striking  as  at  its  close. 
When  a  friend  visited  him  in 
the  last  week,  he  found  he  had 
scrupled  at  allowing  his  temples 
to  be  moistened  with  some  re- 
freshing waters,  and  had  with 
difficulty  been  brought  to  give 
his  consent ;  he  said  he  feared  it 
was  too  great  a  luxury.  When 
the  same  friend  offered  him 
some  liquid  to  allay  his  distress- 
ing thirst  his  answer  was  the 
same.' — Sermon  at  the  funeral 
of  the  Right  Rev.  Henry  Weed- 
all,  pp.  19,  20. 


58  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

did  in  the  ethics  of  the  century,  but  suffering  for  its 
own  sake  is  no  longer  valued,  and  it  is  deemed  one  of 
the  first  objects  of  a  wise  life  to  restrict  and  diminish  it. 
No  one,  I  think,  has  seen  more  clearly  or  described 
more  vividly  than  Goethe  the  direction  in  which  in 
modern  times  the  current  of  morals  is  flowing.  His 
philosophy  is  a  terrestrial  philosophy,  and  the  old  theo- 
logians would  have  said  that  it  allowed  the  second  Table 
of  the  Law  altogether  to  supersede  or  eclipse  the  first. 
It  was  said  of  him  with  much  truth  that  '  repugnance 
to  the  supernatural  was  an  inherent  part  of  his  mind. ' 
To  turn  away  from  useless  and  barren  speculations  ;  to 
persistently  withdraw  our  thoughts  from  the  unknow- 
able, the  inevitable,  and  the  irreparable  ;  to  concentrate 
them  on  the  immediate  present  and  on  the  nearest  duty; 
to  waste  no  moral  energy  on  excessive  introspection  or 
self-abasement  or  self-reproach,  but  to  make  the  culti- 
vation and  the  wise  use  of  all  our  powers  the  supreme 
ideal  and  end  of  our  lives  ;  to  oppose  labour  and  study 
to  affliction  and  regret ;  to  keep  at  a  distance  gloomy 
thoughts  and  exaggerated  anxieties  ;  '  to  see  the  indi- 
vidual in  connection  and  co-operation  with  the  whole,' 
and  to  look  upon  effort  and  action  as  the  main  elements 
both  of  duty  and  happiness,  was  the  lesson  which  he 
continually  taught.  *  The  mind  endowed  with  active 
powers,  and  keeping  with  a  practical  object  to  the  task 
that  lies  nearest,  is  the  worthiest  there  is  on  earth.' 
'  Character  consists  in  a  man  steadily  pursuing  the 
things  of  which  he  feels  himself  capable. '  '  Try  to  do 
your  duty  and  you  will  know  what  you  are  worth.' 
*  Piety  is  not  an  end  but  a  means  ;  a  means  of  attaining 
the  highest  culture  by  the  purest  tranquillity  of  soul.' 


GOETHE'S  VIEW  OF  LIFE  59 

'  We  are  not  born  to  solve  the  problems  of  the  world, 
but  to  find  out  where  the  problem  begins  and  then  to 
keep  within  the  limits  of  what  we  can  grasp.' 

To  cultivate  sincere  love  of  truth  and  clear  and  defi- 
nite conceptions,  and  divest  ourselves  as  much  as  possible 
from  prejudices,  fanaticisms,  superstitions,  and  exag- 
geration ;  to  take  wide,  sound,  tolerant,  many-sided 
views  of  life,  stands  in  his  eyes  in  the  forefront  of 
ethics.  '  Let  it  be  your  earnest  endeavour  to  use  words 
coinciding  as  closely  as  possible  with  what  we  feel,  see, 
think,  experience,  imagine,  and  reason ; '  '  remove  by 
plain  and  honest  purpose  false,  irrelevant  and  futile 
ideas.'  '  The  truest  liberality  is  appreciation.'  '  Love 
of  truth  shows  itself  in  this,  that  a  man  knows  how  to 
find  and  value  the  good  in  everything.' 1 

In  the  eyes  of  this  school  of  thought  one  of  the  great 
vices  of  the  old  theological  type  of  ethics  was  that  it 
was  unduly  negative.  It  thought  much  more  of  the 
avoidance  of  sin  than  of  the  performance  of  duty.  The 
more  we  advance  in  knowledge  the  more  we  shall  come 
to  judge  men  in  the  spirit  of  the  parable  of  the  talents  ; 
that  is  by  the  net  result  of  their  lives,  by  their  essential 
unselfishness,  by  the  degree  in  which  they  employ  and 
the  objects  to  which  they  direct  their  capacities  and  op- 
portunities. The  staple  of  moral  life  becomes  much 
less  a  matter  of  small  scruples,  of  minute  self-examina- 
tion, of  extreme  stress  laid  upon  flaws  of  character  and 
conduct  that  have  little  or  no  bearing  upon  active  life. 
A  life  of  idleness  will  be  regarded  with  much  less  tole- 
rance than  at  present.  Men  will  grow  less  introspective 

1  See  the  excellent  little  book  of  Mr.  Bailey  Saunders,  called 
The  Maxims  and  Reflections  of  Goethe. 


60  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

and  more  objective,  and  useful  action  will  become  more 
and  more  the  guiding  principle  of  morals. 

In  theory  this  will  probably  be  readily  admitted,  but 
every  good  observer  will  find  that  it  involves  a  consi- 
derable change  in  the  point  of  view.  A  life  of  habitual 
languor  and  idleness,  with  no  faculties  really  cultivated, 
and  with  no  result  that  makes  a  man  missed  when  he 
has  passed  away,  may  be  spent  without  any  act  which 
the  world  calls  vicious,  and  is  quite  compatible  with 
much  charm  of  temper  and  demeanour  and  with  a  com- 
plete freedom  from  violent  and  aggressive  selfishness. 
Such  a  life,  in  the  eyes  of  many  moralists,  would  rank 
much  higher  than  a  life  of  constant,  honourable  self- 
sacrificing  labour  for  the  good  of  others  which  was  at 
the  same  time  flawed  by  some  positive  vice.  Yet  the  life 
which  seems  to  be  comparatively  blameless  has  in  truth 
wholly  missed,  while  the  other  life,  in  spite  of  all  its 
defects,  has  largely  attained  what  should  be  the  main 
object  of  a  human  life,  the  full  development  and  useful 
employment  of  whatever  powers  we  possess.  There  are 
men,  indeed,  in  whom  an  over-sensitive  conscience  is 
even  a  paralysing  thing,  which  by  suggesting  constant 
petty  and  ingenious  scruples  holds  them  back  from  use- 
ful action.  It  is  a  moral  infirmity  corresponding  to 
that  exaggerated  intellectual  fastidiousness  which  so 
often  makes  an  intellectual  life  almost  wholly  barren, 
or  to  that  excessive  tendency  to  look  on  all  sides  of  a 
question  and  to  realise  the  dangers  and  drawbacks  of 
any  course  which  not  unf  requently  in  moments  of  diffi- 
culty paralyses  the  actions  of  public  men.  Sometimes, 
under  the  strange  and  subtle  bias  of  the  will,  this  ex- 
cessive conscientiousness  will  be  unconsciously  fostered 


THE  TENDENCY  OF  MORALS  Q\ 

in  inert  and  sluggish  natures  which  are  constitutionally 
disinclined  to  effort.  The  main  lines  of  duty  in  the 
great  relations  of  life  are  sufficiently  obvious,  and  the 
casuistry  which  multiplies  cases  of  conscience  and  in- 
vents unreal  and  factitious  duties  is  apt  to  be  rather  an 
impediment  than  a  furtherance  to  a  noble  life. 

It  is  probable  that  as  the  world  goes  on  morals  will 
move  more  and  more  in  the  direction  I  have  described. 
There  will  be  at  the  same  time  a  steadily  increasing  ten- 
dency to  judge  moral  qualities  and  courses  of  conduct 
mainly  by  the  degree  in  which  they  promote  or  dimi- 
nish human  happiness.  Enthusiasm  and  self-sacrifice  for 
some  object  which  has  no  real  bearing  on  the  welfare  of 
man  will  become  rarer  and  will  be  less  respected,  and 
the  condemnation  that  is  passed  on  acts  that  are  recog- 
nised as  wrong  will  be  much  more  proportioned  than  at 
present  to  the  injury  they  inflict.  Some  things,  such 
as  excessive  luxury  of  expenditure  and  the  improvidence 
of  bringing  into  the  world  children  for  whom  no  pro- 
vision has  been  made,  which  can  now  scarcely  be  said 
to  enter  into  the  teaching  of  moralists,  or  at  least  of 
churches,  may  one  day  be  looked  upon  as  graver  offences 
than  some  that  are  in  the  penal  code. 


THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  tendency  to  regard  morals  rather  in  their  posi- 
tive than  their  negative  aspects,  and  to  estimate  men 
by  the  good  they  do  in  the  world,  is  a  healthy  element 
in  modern  life.  A  strong  sense  of  the  obligation  of  a 
full,  active,  and  useful  life  is  the  best  safeguard  both 
of  individual  and  national  morals  at  a  time  when  the 
dissolution  or  enfeeblement  of  theological  beliefs  is  dis- 
turbing the  foundations  on  which  most  current  moral 
teaching  has  been  based.  In  the  field  of  morals  action 
holds  a  much  larger  place  than  reasoning — a  larger 
place  even  in  elucidating  our  difficulties  and  illuminat- 
ing the  path  on  which  we  should  go.  It  is  by  the  active 
pursuit  of  an  immediate  duty  that  the  vista  of  future 
duties  becomes  most  clear,  and  those  who  are  most  im- 
mersed in  active  duties  are  usually  little  troubled  with 
the  perplexities  of  life,  or  with  minute  and  paralysing 
scruples.  A  public  opinion  which  discourages  idleness 
and  places  high  the  standard  of  public  duty  is  especially 
valuable  in  an  age  when  the  tendency  to  value  wealth, 
and  to  measure  dignity  by  wealth,  has  greatly  increased, 
and  when  wealth  in  some  of  its  most  important  forms 
has  become  wholly  dissociated  from  special  duties.  The 
duties  of  the  landlord  who  is  surrounded  by  a  poor  and 
in  some  measure  dependent  tenantry,  the  duties  of  the 
head  of  a  great  factory  or  shop  who  has  a  large  number 
of  workmen  or  dependents  in  his  employment,  are  suffi- 


EFFECTS  OF  IDLENESS  g3 

ciently  obvious,  though  even  in  these  spheres  the  tie  of 
duty  has  been  greatly  relaxed  by  the  growing  spirit  of 
independence,  which  makes  each  class  increasingly  jea- 
lous of  the  interference  of  others,  and  by  the  growing 
tendency  of  legislation  to  regulate  all  relations  of  busi- 
ness and  contracts  by  definite  law  instead  of  leaving 
them,  as  in  the  past,  to  voluntary  action.  But  there 
are  large  classes  of  fortunes  which  are  wholly,  or  almost 
wholly,  dissociated  from  special  and  definite  duties. 
The  vast  and  ever-increasing  multitude  whose  incomes 
are  derived  from  national,  or  provincial,  or  municipal 
debts,  or  who  are  shareholders  or  debenture-holders  in 
great  commercial  and  industrial  undertakings,  have 
little  or  no  practical  control  over,  or  interest  in,  those 
from  whom  their  fortunes  are  derived.  The  multipli- 
cation of  such  fortunes  is  one  of  the  great  characteris- 
tics of  our  time,  and  it  brings  with  it  grave  dangers. 
Such  fortunes  give  unrivalled  opportunities  of  luxuri- 
ous idleness,  and  as  in  themselves  they  bring  little  or 
no  social  influence  or  position,  those  who  possess  them 
are  peculiarly  tempted  to  seek  such  a  position  by  an 
ostentation  of  wealth  and  luxury  which  has  a  profoundly 
vulgarising  and  demoralising  influence  upon  Society. 
The  tendency  of  idleness  to  lead  to  immorality  has  long 
been  a  commonplace  of  moralists.  Perhaps  our  own  age 
has  seen  more  clearly  than  those  that  preceded  it  that 
complete  and  habitual  idleness  is  immorality,  and  that 
when  the  circumstances  of  his  life  do  not  assign  to  a 
man  a  definite  sphere  of  work  it  is  his  first  duty  to  find 
it  for  himself.  It  has  been  happily  said  that  in  the 
beginning  of  the  reign  of  Queen  Victoria  young  men  in 
England  who  were  really  busy  affected  idleness,  and  at 


64  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

the  close  of  the  reign  young  men  who  are  really  idle 
pretend  to  be  busy.  In  my  own  opinion,  a  dispropor- 
tionate amount  of  English  energy  takes  political  forms, 
and  there  is  a  dangerous  exaggeration  in  the  prevailing 
tendency  to  combat  all  social  and  moral  abuses  by  Acts 
of  Parliament.  But  there  are  multitudes  of  other  and 
less  obtrusive  spheres  of  work  adapted  to  all  grades  of 
intellect  and  to  many  types  of  character,  in  which  men 
who  possess  the  inestimable  boon  of  leisure  can  find 
abundant  and  useful  fields  for  the  exercise  of  their 
powers. 

The  rectification  of  moral  judgments  is  one  of  the 
most  important  elements  of  civilisation  ;  it  is  upon  this 
that  the  possibility  of  moral  progress  on  a  large  scale 
chiefly  depends.  Few  things  pervert  men  more  than 
the  habit  of  regarding  as  enviable  persons  or  qualities 
injurious  to  Society.  The  most  obvious  example  is  the 
passionate  admiration  bestowed  on  a  brilliant  conqueror, 
which  is  often  quite  irrespective  of  the  justice  of  his 
wars  and  of  the  motives  that  actuated  him.  This  false 
moral  feeling  has  acquired  such  a  strength  that  over- 
whelming military  power  almost  certainly  leads  to  a 
career  of  ambition.  Perverted  public  opinion  is  the 
main  cause.  Glory,  not  interest,  is  the  lure,  or  at  least 
the  latter  would  be  powerless  if  it  were  not  accompanied 
by  the  former — if  the  execration  of  mankind  naturally 
followed  unscrupulous  aggression. 

Another  and  scarcely  less  flagrant  instance  of  the  wor- 
ship of  false  ideals  is  to  be  found  in  the  fierce  competi- 
tion of  luxury  and  ostentation  which  characterises  the 
more  wealthy  cities  of  Europe  and  America.  It  is  no 
exaggeration  to  say  that  in  a  single  festival  in  London 


LUXURY  AND  OSTENTATION  65 

or  New  York  sums  are  often  expended  in  the  idlest  and 
most  ephemeral  ostentation  which  might  have  revived 
industry,  or  extinguished  pauperism,  or  alleviated  suf- 
fering over  a  vast  area.  The  question  of  expenditure 
on  luxuries  is  no  doubt  a  question  of  degree  which  can- 
not be  reduced  to  strict  rule,  and  there  are  many  who 
will  try  to  justify  the  most  ostentatious  expenditure  on 
the  ground  of  the  employment  it  gives  and  of  other 
incidental  advantages  it  is  supposed  to  produce.  But 
nothing  in  political  economy  is  more  certain  than  that 
the  vast  and  ever-increasing  expenditure  on  the  luxury 
of  ostentation  in  modern  societies,  by  withdrawing  great 
masses  of  capital  from  productive  labour,  is  a  grave  eco- 
nomical evil,  and  there  is  probably  no  other  form  of  ex- 
penditure which,  in  proportion  to  its  amount,  gives  so 
little  real  pleasure  and  confers  so  little  real  good.  Its 
evil  in  setting  up  material  and  base  standards  of  excel- 
lence, in  stimulating  the  worst  passions  that  grow  out 
of  an  immoderate  love  of  wealth,  in  ruining  many  who 
are  tempted  into  a  competition  which  they  are  unable 
to  support,  can  hardly  be  overrated.  It  is  felt  in  every 
rank  in  raising  the  standard  of  conventional  expenses, 
excluding  from  much  social  intercourse  many  who  are 
admirably  fitted  to  adorn  it,  and  introducing  into  all 
society  a  lower  and  more  material  tone.  Nor  are  these 
its  only  consequences.  Wealth  which  is  expended  in 
multiplying  and  elaborating  real  comforts,  or  even  in 
pleasures  which  produce  enjoyment  at  all  proportionate 
to  their  cost,  will  never  excite  serious  indignation.  It 
is  the  colossal  waste  of  the  means  of  human  happiness 
in  the  most  selfish  and  most  vulgar  forms  of  social 
advertisement  and  competition  that  gives  a  force  and 
5 


66  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

almost  a  justification  to  anarchical  passions  which  me- 
nace the  whole  future  of  our  civilisation.  It  is  such 
things  that  stimulate  class  hatreds  and  deepen  class 
divisions,  and  if  the  law  of  opinion  does  not  interfere 
to  check  them  they  will  one  day  bring  down  upon  the 
society  that  encourages  them  a  signal  and  well-merited 
retribution. 

A  more  recognised,  though  probably  not  really  more 
pernicious  example  of  false  ideals,  is  to  be  found  in  the 
glorification  of  the  demi-monde,  which  is  so  conspicuous 
in  some  societies  and  literatures.  In  a  healthy  state  of 
opinion,  the  public,  ostentatious  appearance  of  such  per- 
sons, without  any  concealment  of  their  character,  in  the 
great  concourse  of  fashion  and  among  the  notabilities 
of  the  State,  would  appear  an  intolerable  scandal,  and  it 
becomes  much  worse  when  they  give  the  tone  to  fashion 
and  become  the  centres  and  the  models  of  large  and 
by  no  means  undistinguished  sections  of  Society.  The 
evils  springing  from  this  public  glorification  of  the  class 
are  immeasurably  greater  than  the  evils  arising  from  its 
existence.  The  standard  of  popular  morals  is  debased. 
Temptation  in  its  most  seductive  form  is  forced  upon 
inflammable  natures,  and  the  most  pernicious  of  all  les- 
sons is  taught  to  poor,  honest,  hard-working  women. 
It  is  indeed  wonderful  that  in  societies  where  this  evil 
prevails  so  much  virtue  should  still  exist  among  grace- 
ful, attractive  women  of  the  shopkeeping  and  servant 
class  when  they  continually  see  before  them  members 
of  their  own  class,  by  preferring  vice  to  virtue,  rising 
at  once  to  wealth,  luxury  and  idleness,  and  even  held 
up  as  objects  of  admiration  or  imitation. 

In  judging  wisely  the  characters  of  men,  one  of  the 


IDEALS  THE  TEST  OF  CHARACTER  Q? 

first  things  to  be  done  is  to  understand  their  ideals. 
Try  to  find  out  what  kind  of  men  or  of  life  ;  what  quali- 
ties, what  positions  seem  to  them  the  most  desirable. 
Men  do  not  always  fully  recognise  their  own  ideals,  for 
education  and  the  conventionalities  of  Society  oblige 
them  to  assert  a  preference  for  that  which  may  really 
have  no  root  in  their  minds.  But  by  a  careful  exami- 
nation it  is  usually  possible  to  ascertain  what  persons  or 
qualities  or  circumstances  or  gifts  exercise  a  genuine, 
spontaneous,  magnetic  power  over  them — whether  they 
really  value  supremely  rank  or  position,  or  money,  or 
beauty,  or  intellect,  or  superiority  of  character.  If  you 
know  the  ideal  of  a  man  you  have  obtained  a  true  key 
to  his  nature.  The  broad  lines  of  his  character,  the 
permanent  tendencies  of  his  imagination,  his  essential 
nobility  or  meanness,  are  thus%disclosed  more  effectually 
than  by  any  other  means.  A  man  with  high  ideals,  who 
admires  wisely  and  nobly,  is  never  wholly  base  though 
he  may  fall  into  great  vices.  A  man  who  worships  the 
baser  elements  is  in  truth  an  idolater  though  he  may 
have  never  bowed  before  an  image  of  stone. 

The  human  mind  has  much  more  power  of  distin- 
guishing between  right  and  wrong,  and  between  true 
and  false,  than  of  estimating  with  accuracy  the  com- 
parative gravity  of  opposite  evils.  It  is  nearly  always 
right  in  judging  between  right  and  wrong.  It  is  gene- 
rally wrong  in  estimating  degrees  of  guilt,  and  the 
root  of  its  error  lies  in  the  extreme  difficulty  of  putting 
ourselves  into  the  place  of  those  whose  characters  or  cir- 
cumstances are  radically  different  from  our  own.  This 
want  of  imagination  acts  widely  on  our  judgment  of 
what  is  good  as  well  as  of  what  is  bad.  Few  men  have 


63  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

enough  imagination  to  realise  types  of  excellence  alto- 
gether differing  from  their  own.  It  is  this,  much  more 
than  vanity,  that  leads  them  to  esteem  the  types  of  ex- 
cellence to  which  they  themselves  approximate  as  the 
best,  and  tastes  and  habits  that  are  altogether  incon- 
gruous with  their  own  as  futile  and  contemptible.  It 
is,  perhaps,  most  difficult  of  all  to  realise  the  difference 
of  character  and  especially  of  moral  sensibility  produced 
by  a  profound  difference  of  circumstances.  This  diffi- 
culty largely  falsifies  our  judgments  of  the  past,  and  it 
is  the  reason  why  a  powerful  imagination  enabling  us 
to  realise  very  various  characters  and  very  remote  cir- 
cumstances is  one  of  the  first  necessities  of  a  great  his- 
torian. Historians  rarely  make  sufficient  allowance  for 
the  degree  in  which  the  judgments  and  dispositions 
even  of  the  best  men  are  coloured  by  the  moral  tone  of 
the  time,  society  and  profession  in  which  they  lived. 
Yet  it  is  probable  that  on  the  whole  we  estimate  more 
justly  the  characters  of  the  past  than  of  the  present. 
No  one  would  judge  the  actions  of  Charlemagne  or  of 
his  contemporaries  by  the  strict  rules  of  nineteenth- 
century  ethics.  We  feel  that  though  they  committed 
undoubted  crimes,  these  crimes  are  at  least  indefinitely 
less  heinous  than  they  would  have  been  under  the  wholly 
different  circumstances  and  moral  atmosphere  of  our 
own  day.  Yet  we  seldom  apply  this  method  of  reason- 
ing to  the  different  strata  cf  the  same  society.  Men 
who  have  been  themselves  brought  up  amid  all  the  com- 
forts and  all  the  moralising  and  restraining  influences 
of  a  refined  society,  will  often  judge  the  crimes  of  the 
wretched  pariahs  of  civilisation  as  if  their  acts  were  in 
no  degree  palliated  by  their  position.  They  say  to 


ALLOWANCE  FOR  CIRCUMSTANCES  gg 

themselves  '  How  guilty  should  I  have  been  if  I  had  done 
this  thing/  and  their  verdict  is  quite  just  according  to 
this  statement  of  the  case.  They  realise  the  nature  of 
the  act.  They  utterly  fail  to  realise  the  character  and 
circumstances  of  the  actor. 

And  yet  it  is  scarcely  possible  to  exaggerate  the  dif- 
ference between  the  position  of  such  a  critic  and  that 
of  the  children  of  drunken,  ignorant  and  profligate 
parents,  born  to  abject  poverty  in  the  slums  of  our  great 
cities.  From  their  earliest  childhood  drunkenness, 
blasphemy,  dishonesty,  prostitution,  indecency  of  every 
form  are  their  most  familiar  experiences.  All  the  social 
influences,  such  as  they  are,  are  influences  of  vice.  As 
they  grow  up  Life  seems  to  them  to  present  little  more 
than  the  alternative  of  hard,  ill-paid,  and  at  the  same 
time  precarious  labour,  probably  ending  in  the  poor- 
house,  or  crime  with  its  larger  and  swifter  gains,  and 
its  intervals  of  coarse  pleasure  probably,  though  not  cer- 
tainly, followed  by  the  prison  or  an  early  death.  They 
see  indeed,  like  figures  in  a  dream,  or  like  beings  of 
another  world,  the  wealthy  and  the  luxurious  spending 
their  wealth  and  their  time  in  many  kinds  of  enjoyment, 
tut  to  the  very  poor  pleasure  scarcely  comes  except  in 
the  form  of  the  gin  palace  or  perhaps  the  low  music 
hall.  And  in  many  cases  they  have  come  into  this  reek- 
ing atmosphere  of  temptation  and  vice  with  natures 
debased  and  enfeebled  by  a  long  succession  of  vicious 
hereditary  influences,  with  weak  wills,  with  no  faculties 
of  mind  or  character  that  can  respond  to  any  healthy 
ambition  ;  with  powerful  inborn  predispositions  to  evil. 
The  very  mould  of  their  features,  the  very  shape  of 
their  skulls,  marks  them  out  as  destined  members  of 


70  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

the  criminal  class.  Even  here,  no  doubt,  there  is  a  dif- 
ference between  right  and  wrong  ;  there  is  scope  for  the 
action  of  free  will;  there  are  just  causes  of  praise  and 
blame,  and  Society  rightly  protects  itself  by  severe  pe- 
nalties against  the  crimes  that  are  most  natural ;  but 
what  human  judge  can  duly  measure  the  scale  of  moral 
guilt?  or  what  comparison  can  there  be  between  the 
crimes  that  are  engendered  by  such  circumstances  and 
those  which  spring  up  in  the  homes  of  refined  and  well- 
regulated  comfort  ? 

Nor  indeed  even  in  this  latter  case  is  a  really  accurate 
judgment  possible.  Men  are  born  into  the  world  with 
both  wills  and  passions  of  varying  strength,  though  in 
mature  life  the  strength  or  weakness  of  each  is  largely 
due  to  their  own  conduct.  With  different  characters 
the  same  temptation,  operating  under  the  same  external 
circumstances,  has  enormously  different  strength,  and 
very  few  men  can  fully  realise  the  strength  of  a  passion 
which  they  have  never  themselves  experienced.  To  re- 
peat an  illustration  I  have  already  used,  how  difficult  is 
it  for  a  constitutionally  sober  man  to  form  in  his  own 
mind  an  adequate  conception  of  the  force  of  the  temp- 
tation of  drink  to  a  dipsomaniac,  or  for  a  passionless 
man  to  conceive  rightly  the  temptations  of  a  profoundly 
sensual  nature  !  I  have  spoken  in  a  former  chapter  of 
the  force  with  which  bodily  conditions  act  upon  happi- 
ness. Their  influence  on  morals  is  not  less  terrible. 
There  are  diseases  well  known  to  physicians  which  make 
the  most  placid  temper  habitually  irritable  ;  give  a  mor- 
bid turn  to  the  healthiest  disposition  ;  fill  the  purest 
mind  with  unholy  thoughts.  There  are  others  which 
destroy  the  force  of  the  strongest  will  and  take  from 


DEGREES  OF  INSANITY  71 

character  all  balance  and  self-control.1  It  often  hap- 
pens that  we  have  long  been  blaming  a  man  for  mani- 
fest faults  of  character  till  at  last  suicide,  or  the  disclo- 
sure of  some  grave  bodily  or  mental  disease  which  has 
long  been  working  unperceived,  explains  his  faults  and 
turns  our  blame  into  pity.  In  madness  the  whole  moral 
character  is  sometimes  reversed,  and  tendencies  which 
have  been  in  sane  life  dormant  or  repressed  become  sud- 
denly supreme.  In  such  cases  we  all  acknowledge  that 
there  is  no  moral  responsibility,  but  madness,  with  its 
illusions  and  irresistible  impulses,  and  idiocy  with  its 
complete  suspension  of  the  will  and  of  the  judgment, 
are  neither  of  them,  as  lawyers  would  pretend,  clearly 
defined  states,  marked  out  by  sharp  and  well-cut  boun- 
daries, wholly  distinct  from  sanity.  There  are  incipi- 
ent stages  ;  there  are  gradual  approximations  ;  there  are 
twilight  states  between  sanity  and  insanity  which  are 
clearly  recognised  not  only  by  experts  but  by  all  saga- 
cious men  of  the  world.  There  are  many  who  are  not 
sufficiently  mad  to  be  shut  up,  or  to  be  deprived  of  the 
management  of  their  properties,  or  to  be  exempted  from 
punishment  if  they  have  committed  a  crime,  but  who, 
in  the  common  expressive  phrase,  '  are  not  all  there ' 
— whose  eccentricities,  illusions  and  caprices  are  on 
the  verge  of  madness,  whose  judgments  are  hope- 
lessly disordered  ;  whose  wills,  though  not  completely 
atrophied,  are  manifestly  diseased.  In  questions  of 
property,  in  questions  of  crime,  in  questions  of  family 
arrangements,  such  persons  cause  the  gravest  perplex- 
ity, nor  will  any  wise  man  judge  them  by  the  same 


1  See  Ribot,  Les  Maladies  de  la  Volonti,  pp.  92,  116-119. 


72  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

moral  standard  as  well-balanced  and   well-developed 
natures. 

The  inference  to  be  drawn  from  such  facts  is  certainly 
not  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  free  will  and  personal 
responsibility,  nor  yet  that  we  have  no  power  of  judging 
the  acts  of  others  and  distinguishing  among  our  fellow- 
men  between  the  good  and  the  bad.  The  true  lesson  is 
the  extreme  fallibility  of  our  moral  judgments  whenever 
we  attempt  to  measure  degrees  of  guilt.  Sometimes 
men  are  even  unjust  to  their  own  past  from  their  in- 
capacity in  age  of  realising  the  force  of  the  temptations 
they  had  experienced  in  youth.  On  the  other  hand,  in- 
creased knowledge  of  the  world  tends  to  make  us  more 
sensible  of  the  vast  differences  between  the  moral  cir- 
cumstances of  men,  and  therefore  less  confident  and 
more  indulgent  in  our  judgments  of  others.  There  are 
men  whose  cards  in  life  are  so  bad,  whose  temptations 
to  vice,  either  from  circumstances  or  inborn  character, 
seem  so  overwhelming,  that,  though  we  may  punish, 
and  in  a  certain  sense  blame,  we  can  scarcely  look  on 
them  as  more  responsible  than  some  noxious  wild  beast. 
Among  the  terrible  facts  of  life  none  is  indeed  more  ter- 
rible than  this.  Every  believer  in  the  wise  government 
of  the  world  must  have  sometimes  realised  with  a  crush- 
ing or  at  least  a  staggering  force  the  appalling  injustices 
of  life  as  shown  in  the  enormous  differences  in  the  dis- 
tribution of  unmerited  happiness  and  misery.  But  the 
disparity  of  moral  circumstances  is  not  less.  It  has 
shaken  the  faith  of  many.  It  has  even  led  some  to 
dream  of  a  possible  Heaven  for  the  vicious  where  those 
who  are  born  into  the  world  with  a  physical  constitution 
rendering  them  fierce  or  cruel,  or  sensual,  or  cowardly, 


PROVINCE  OF  THE  CRIMINAL  CODE  73 

may  be  freed  from  the  nature  which  was  the  cause  of 
their  vice  and  their  suffering  upon  earth  ;  where  due 
allowance  may  be  made  for  the  differences  of  circum- 
stances which  have  plunged  one  man  deeper  and  ever 
deeper  into  crime,  and  enabled  another,  who  was  not 
really  better  or  worse,  to  pass  through  life  with  no  seri- 
ous blemish,  and  to  rise  higher  and  higher  in  the  moral 
scale. 

Imperfect,  however,  as  is  our  power  of  judging  others, 
it  is  a  power  we  are  all  obliged  to  exercise.  It  is  impos- 
sible to  exclude  the  considerations  of  moral  guilt  and  of 
palliating  or  aggravating  circumstances  from  the  penal 
code,  and  from  the  administration  of  justice,  though  it 
cannot  be  too  clearly  maintained  that  the  criminal  code 
is  not  coextensive  with  the  moral  code,  and  that  many 
things  which  are  profoundly  immoral  lie  beyond  its 
scope.  On  the  whole  it  should  be  as  much  as  possible 
confined  to  acts  by  which  men  directly  injure  others. 
In  the  case  of  adult  men,  private  vices,  vices  by  which 
no  one  is  directly  affected,  except  by  his  own  free  will, 
and  in  which  the  elements  of  force  or  fraud  are  not 
present,  should  not  be  brought  within  its  range.  This 
ideal,  it  is  true,  cannot  be  fully  attained.  The  legisla- 
tor must  take  into  account  the  strong  pressure  of  public 
opinion.  It  is  sometimes  true  that  a  penal  law  may 
arrest,  restrict,  or  prevent  the  revival  of  some  private 
vice  without  producing  any  countervailing  evil.  But 
the  presumption  is  against  all  laws  which  punish  the 
voluntary  acts  of  adult  men  when  those  acts  injure  no 
one  except  themselves.  The  social  censure,  or  the  judg- 
ment of  opinion,  rightly  extends  much  further,  though 
it  is  often  based  on  very  imperfect  knowledge  or  realisa- 


74  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

tion.  It  is  probable  that,  on  the  whole,  opinion  judges 
too  severely  the  crimes  of  passion  and  of  drink,  as  well 
as  those  which  spring  from  the  pressure  of  great  poverty 
and  are  accompanied  by  great  ignorance.  The  causes 
of  domestic  anarchy  are  usually  of  such  an  intimate 
nature  and  involve  so  many  unknown  or  imperfectly 
realised  elements  of  aggravation  or  palliation  that  in 
most  cases  the  less  men  attempt  to  judge  them  the  bet- 
ter. On  the  other  hand,  public  opinion  is  usually  far 
too  lenient  in  judging  crimes  of  ambition,  cupidity, 
envy,  malevolence,  and  callous  selfishness  ;  the  crimes 
of  ill-gotten  and  ill-used  wealth,  especially  in  the 
many  cases  in  which  those  crimes  are  unpunished  by 
law. 

It  is  a  mere  commonplace  of  morals  that  in  the  path 
of  evil  it  is  the  first  step  that  costs  the  most.  The 
shame,  the  repugnance,  and  the  remorse  which  attend 
the  first  crime  speedily  fade,  and  on  every  repetition 
the  habit  of  evil  grows  stronger.  A  process  of  the  same 
kind  passes  over  our  judgments.  Few  things  are  more 
curious  than  to  observe  how  the  eye  accommodates  itself 
to  a  new  fashion  of  dress,  however  unbecoming  ;  how 
speedily  men,  or  at  least  women,  will  adopt  a  new  and 
artificial  standard  and  instinctively  and  unconsciously 
admire  or  blame  according  to  this  standard  and  not 
according  to  any  genuine  sense  of  beauty  or  the  reverse. 
Few  persons,  however  pure  may  be  their  natural  taste, 
can  live  long  amid  vulgar  and  vulgarising  surroundings 
without  losing  something  of  the  delicacy  of  their  taste 
and  learning  to  accept — if  not  with  pleasure,  at  least 
with  acquiescence — things  from  which  under  other  cir- 
cumstances they  would  have  recoiled.  In  the  same  way, 


DETERIORATION  OF  CHARACTER  75 

both  individuals  and  societies  accommodate  themselves 
but  too  readily  to  lower  moral  levels,  and  a  constant 
vigilance  is  needed  to  detect  the  forms  or  directions  in 
which  individual  and  national  character  insensibly  de- 
teriorate. 


76  THE  MAP  OF 


CHAPTEE  VII 

IT  is  impossible  for  a  physician  to  prescribe  a  rational 
regimen  for  a  patient  unless  lie  has  formed  some  clear 
conception  of  the  nature  of  his  constitution  and  of  the 
morbid  influences  to  which  it  is  inclined  ;  and  in  judg- 
ing the  wisdom  of  various  proposals  for  the  management 
of  character  we  are  at  once  met  by  the  initial  contro- 
versy about  the  goodness  or  the  depravity  of  human 
nature.  It  is  a  subject  on  which  extreme  exaggerations 
have  prevailed.  The  school  of  Rousseau,  which  domi- 
nated on  the  Continent  in  the  last  half  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  represented  mankind  as  a  being  who  comes 
into  existence  essentially  good,  and  it  attributed  all  the 
moral  evils  of  the  world,  not  to  any  innate  tendencies  to 
vice,  but  to  superstition,  vicious  institutions,  misleading 
education,  a  badly  organised  society.  It  is  an  obvious 
criticism  that  if  human  nature  had  been  as  good  as  such 
writers  imagined,  these  corrupt  and  corrupting  influ- 
ences could  never  have  grown  up,  or  at  least  could 
never  have  obtained  a  controlling  influence,  and  this 
philosophy  became  greatly  discredited  when  the  French 
Revolution,  which  it  did  so  much  to  produce,  ended  in 
the  unspeakable  horrors  of  the  Reign  of  Terror  and  in 
the  gigantic  carnage  of  the  Napoleonic  wars.  On  the 
other  hand,  there  are  large  schools  of  theologians  who 
represent  man  as  utterly  and  fundamentally  depraved, 
'  born  in  corruption,  inclined  to  evil,  incapable  by  him- 


EXAGGERATIONS  OF  HUMAN  DEPRAVITY          77 

self  of  doing  good  ; '  totally  wrecked  and  ruined  as  a 
moral  being  by  the  catastrophe  in  Eden.  There  are 
also  moral  philosophers — usually  very  unconnected  with 
theology — who  deny  or  explain  away  all  unselfish  ele- 
ments in  human  nature,  represent  man  as  simply  go- 
verned by  self-interest,  and  maintain  that  the  whole  art 
of  education  and  government  consists  of  a  judicious 
arrangement  of  selfish  motives,  making  the  interests  of 
the  individual  coincident  with  those  of  his  neighbours. 
It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  Society  never  could  have 
subsisted  if  this  view  of  human  nature  had  been  a  just 
one.  The  world  would  have  been  like  a  cage-full  of 
wild  beasts,  and  mankind  would  have  soon  perished  in 
constant  internecine  war. 

It  is  indeed  one  of  the  plainest  facts  of  human  nature 
that  such  a  view  of  mankind  is  an  untrue  one.  Jea- 
lousy, envy,  animosities  and  selfishness  no  doubt  play  a 
great  part  in  life  and  disguise  themselves  under  many 
specious  forms,  and  the  cynical  moralist  was  not  wholly 
wrong  when  he  declared  that  '  Virtue  would  not  go  so 
far  if  Vanity  did  not  keep  her  company,'  and  that  not 
only  our  crimes  but  even  many  of  what  are  deemed  our 
best  acts  may  be  traced  to  selfish  motives.  But  he  must 
have  had  a  strangely  unfortunate  experience  of  the 
world  who  does  not  recognise  the  enormous  exaggera- 
tion of  the  pictures  of  human  nature  that  are  conveyed 
in  some  of  the  maxims  of  La  Eochefoucauld  and  Scho- 
penhauer. They  tell  us  that  friendship  is  a  mere  ex- 
change of  interests  in  which  each  man  only  seeks  to 
gain  something  from  the  other  ;  that  most  women  are 
only  pure  because  they  are  untempted  and  regret  that 
the  temptation  does  not  come  ;  that  if  we  acknowledge 


78  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

some  faults  it  is  in  order  to  persuade  ourselves  that  we 
have  no  greater  ones,  or  in  order,  by  our  confession,  to 
regain  the  good  opinion  of  our  neighbours  ;  that  if  we 
praise  another  it  is  merely  that  we  may  ourselves  in 
turn  be  praised  ;  that  the  tears  we  shed  over  a  death- 
bed, if  they  are  not  hypocritical  tears  intended  only  to 
impress  our  neighbours,  are  only  due  to  our  conviction 
that  we  have  ourselves  lost  a  source  of  pleasure  or  of 
gain  ;  that  envy  so  predominates  in  the  world  that  it 
is  only  men  of  inferior  intellect  or  women  of  inferior 
beauty  who  are  sincerely  liked  by  those  about  them  ; 
that  all  virtue  is  an  egotistic  calculation,  conscious  or 
unconscious. 

Such  views  are  at  least  as  far  removed  from  truth  as 
the  roseate  pictures  of  Rousseau  and  St.  Pierre.  No 
one  can  look  with  an  unjaundiced  eye  upon  the  world 
without  perceiving  the  enormous  amount  of  disinter- 
ested, self-sacrificing  benevolence  that  pervades  it ;  the 
countless  lives  that  are  spent  not  only  harmlessly  and 
inoffensively  but  also  in  the  constant  discharge  of  duties ; 
in  constant  and  often  painful  labour  for  the  good  of 
others.  The  better  section  of  the  Utilitarian  school  has 
fully  recognised  the  truth  that  human  nature  is  so  con- 
stituted that  a  great  proportion  of  its  enjoyment  de- 
pends on  sympathy ;  or,  in  other  words,  on  the  power 
we  possess  of  entering  into  and  sharing  the  happiness 
of  others.  The  spectacle  of  suffering  naturally  elicits 
compassion.  Kindness  naturally  produces  gratitude. 
The  sympathies  of  men  naturally  move  on  the  side  of 
the  good  rather  than  of  the  bad.  This  is  true  not  only 
of  the  things  that  immediately  concern  us,  but  also  in 
the  perfectly  disinterested  judgments  we  form  of  the 


ORIGIN  OF  EVIL  79 

events  of  history  or  of  the  characters  in  fiction  and 
poetry.  Great  exhibitions  of  heroism  and  self-sacrifice 
touch  a  genuine  chord  of  enthusiasm.  The  affections 
of  the  domestic  circle  are  the  rule  and  not  the  excep- 
tion ;  patriotism  can  elicit  great  outbursts  of  purely 
unselfish  generosity  and  induce  multitudes  to  risk  or 
sacrifice  their  lives  for  causes  which  are  quite  other  than 
their  own  selfish  interests.  Human  nature  indeed  has 
its  moral  as  well  as  its  physical  needs,  and  naturally  and 
instinctively  seeks  some  object  of  interest  and  enthusi- 
asm outside  itself. 

If  we  look  again  into  the  vice  and  sin  that  undoubt- 
edly disfigure  the  world  we  shall  find  much  reason  to 
believe  that  what  is  exceptional  in  human  nature  is  not 
the  evil  tendency  but  the  restraining  conscience,  and 
that  it  is  chiefly  the  weakness  of  the  distinctively  human 
quality  that  is  the  origin  of  the  evil.  It  is  impossible 
indeed,  with  the  knowledge  we  now  possess,  to  deny  to 
animals  some  measure  both  of  reason  and  of  the  moral 
sense.  In  addition  to  the  higher  instincts  of  parental 
affection  and  devotion  which  are  so  clearly  developed 
we  find  among  some  animals  undoubted  signs  of  re- 
morse, gratitude,  affection,  self-sacrifice.  Even  the 
point  of  honour  which  attaches  shame  to  some  things 
and  pride  to  others  may  be  clearly  distinguished.  No 
one  who  has  watched  the  more  intelligent  dog  can  ques- 
tion this,  and  many  will  maintain  that  in  some  animals, 
though  both  good  and  bad  qualities  are  less  widely  de- 
veloped than  in  man,  the  proportion  of  the  good  to  the 
evil  is  more  favourable  in  the  animal  than  in  the  man. 
At  the  same  time  in  the  animal  world  desire  is  usually 
followed  without  any  other  restraint  than  fear,  while 


80  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

in  man  it  is  largely  though  no  doubt  very  imperfectly 
limited  by  moral  self-control.  Most  crimes  spring  not 
from  anything  wrong  in  the  original  and  primal  desire 
but  from  the  imperfection  of  this  higher,  distinct  or 
superadded  element  in  our  nature.  The  crimes  of  dis- 
honesty and  envy,  when  duly  analysed,  have  at  their 
basis  simply  a  desire  for  the  desirable — a  natural  and 
inevitable  feeling.  What  is  absent  is  the  restraint 
which  makes  men  refrain  from  taking  or  trying  to  take 
desirable  things  that  belong  to  another.  Sensual  faults 
spring  from  a  perfectly  natural  impulse,  but  the  restraint 
which  confines  the  action  of  that  impulse  to  defined  cir- 
cumstances is  wanting.  Much,  too,  of  the  insensibility 
and  hardness  of  the  world  is  due  to  a  simple  want  of 
imagination  which  prevents  us  from  adequately  rea- 
lising the  sufferings  of  others.  The  predatory,  envious 
and  ferocious  feelings  that  disturb  mankind  operate 
unrestrained  through  the  animal  world,  though  man's 
superior  intelligence  gives  his  desires  a  special  character 
and  a  greatly  increased  scope,  and  introduces  them  into 
spheres  inconceivable  to  the  animal.  Immoderate  and 
uncontrolled  desires  are  the  root  of  most  human  crimes, 
but  at  the  same  time  the  self-restraint  that  limits  de- 
sire, or  self-seeking,  by  the  rights  of  others,  seems  to  be 
mainly,  though  not  wholly,  the  prerogative  of  man. 

Considerations  of  this  kind  are  sufficient  to  remedy 
the  extreme  exaggeration  of  human  corruption  that  may 
often  be  heard,  but  they  are  not  inconsistent  with  the 
truth  that  human  nature  is  so  far  depraved  that  it  can 
never  be  safely  left  to  develop  unimpeded  without  strong 
legal  and  social  restraint.  It  is  not  necessary  to  seek 
examples  of  its  depravity  within  the  precincts  of  a  prison 


CAUSES  WHICH  PROMOTE  OR  PREVENT  WAR       81 

or  in  the  many  instances  that  may  be  found  outside  the 
criminal  population  of  morbid  moral  taints  which  are 
often  as  clearly  marked  as  physical  disease.  On  a  large 
scale  and  in  the  actions  of  great  bodies  of  men  the  me- 
lancholy truth  is  abundantly  displayed.  On  the  whole 
Christianity  has  been  far  more  successful  in  influencing 
individuals  than  societies.  The  mere  spectacle  of  a 
battle-field  with  the  appalling  mass  of  hideous  suffering 
deliberately  and  ingeniously  inflicted  by  man  upon  man 
should  be  sufficient  to  scatter  all  idyllic  pictures  of  hu- 
man nature.  It  was  once  the  custom  of  a  large  school 
of  writers  to  attribute  unjust  wars  solely  to  the  rulers  of 
the  world,  who  for  their  own  selfish  ambitions  remorse- 
lessly sacrificed  the  lives  of  tens  of  thousands  of  their 
subjects.  Their  guilt  has  been  very  great,  but  they 
would  never  have  pursued  the  course  of  ambitious  con- 
quest if  the  applause  of  nations  had  not  followed  and 
encouraged  them,  and  there  are  no  signs  that  demo- 
cracy, which  has  enthroned  the  masses,  has  any  real  ten- 
dency to  diminish  war. 

In  modern  times  the  danger  of  war  lies  less  in  the  in- 
trigues of  statesmen  than  in  deeply  seated  international 
jealousies  and  antipathies  ;  in  sudden,  volcanic  outbursts 
of  popular  passion.  After  eighteen  hundred  years'  pro- 
fession of  the  creed  of  peace,  Christendom  is  an  armed 
camp.  Never,  or  hardly  ever,  in  times  of  peace  had  the 
mere  preparations  of  war  absorbed  so  large  a  proportion 
of  its  population  and  resources,  and  very  seldom  has  so 
large  an  amount  of  its  ability  been  mainly  employed  in 
inventing  and  in  perfecting  instruments  of  destruction. 
Those  who  will  look  on  the  world  without  illusion  will 
be  compelled  to  admit  that  the  chief  guarantees  for  its 
6 


82  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

peace  are  to  be  found  much  less  in  moral  than  in  purely 
selfish  motives.  The  financial  embarrassments  of  the 
great  nations  ;  their  profound  distrust  of  one  another  ; 
the  vast  cost  of  modern  war  ;  the  gigantic  commercial 
disasters  it  inevitably  entails  ;  the  extreme  uncertainty 
of  its  issue  ;  the  utter  ruin  that  may  follow  defeat — these 
are  the  real  influences  that  restrain  the  tiger  passions 
and  the  avaricious  cravings  of  mankind.  It  is  also  one 
of  the  advantages  that  accompany  the  many  evils  of 
universal  service,  that  great'  citizen  armies  who  in  time 
of  war  are  drawn  from  their  homes,  their  families,  and 
their  peaceful  occupations  have  not  the  same  thirst  for 
battle  that  grows  up  among  purely  professional  soldiers, 
voluntarily  enlisted  and  making  a  military  life  their 
whole  career.  Yet,  in  spite  of  all  this,  what  trust  could 
be  placed  in  the  forbearance  of  Christian  nations  if  the 
path  of  aggression  was  at  once  easy,  lucrative  and  safe  ? 
The  judgments  of  nations  in  dealing  with  the  aggres- 
sions of  their  neighbours  are,  it  is  true,  very  different 
from  those  which  they  form  of  aggressions  by  their  own 
statesmen  or  for  their  own  benefit.  But  no  great  nation 
is  blameless,  and  there  is  probably  no  nation  that  could 
not  speedily  catch  the  infection  of  the  warlike  spirit  if 
a  conqueror  and  a  few  splendid  victories  obscured,  as 
they  nearly  always  do,  the  moral  issues  of  the  contest. 

War,  it  is  true,  is  not  always  or  wholly  evil.  Some- 
times it  is  justifiable  and  necessary.  Sometimes  it  is 
professedly  and  in  part  really  due  to  some  strong  wave 
of  philanthropic  feeling  produced  by  great  acts  of 
wrong,  though  of  all  forms  of  philanthropy  it  is  that 
which  most  naturally  defeats  itself.  Even  when  unjus- 
tifiable, it  calls  into  action  splendid  qualities  of  courage, 


THE  EXISTENCE  OF  PURE  MALEVOLENCE  83 

self-sacrifice,  and  endurance  which  cast  a  dazzling  and 
deceptive  glamour  over  its  horrors  and  its  criminality. 
It  appeals  too,  beyond  all  other  things,  to  that  craving 
for  excitement,  adventure,  and  danger  which  is  an 
essential  and  imperious  element  in  human  nature,  and 
which,  while  it  is  in  itself  neither  a  virtue  nor  a  vice, 
blends  powerfully  with  some  of  the  best  as  well  as  with 
some  of  the  worst  actions  of  mankind.  It  is  indeed  a 
strange  thing  to  observe  how  many  men  in  every  age 
have  been  ready  to  risk  or  sacrifice  their  lives  for  causes 
which  they  have  never  clearly  understood  and  which 
they  would  find  it  difficult  in  plain  words  to  describe. 

But  the  amount  of  pure  and  almost  spontaneous 
malevolence  in  the  world  is  probably  far  greater  than 
we  at  first  imagine.  In  public  life  the  workings  of  this 
Bide  of  human  nature  are  at  once  disclosed  and  magni- 
fied, like  the  figures  thrown  by  a  magic  lantern  on  a 
screen,  to  a  scale  which  it  is  impossible  to  overlook. 
No  one,  for  example,  can  study  the  anonymous  press 
without  perceiving  how  large  a  part  of  it  is  employed 
systematically,  persistently  and  deliberately  in  fostering 
class,  or  race,  or  international  hatreds,  and  often  in 
circulating  falsehoods  to  attain  this  end.  Many  news- 
papers notoriously  depend  for  their  existence  on  such 
appeals,  and  more  than  any  other  instruments  they  in- 
flame and  perpetuate  those  permanent  animosities  which 
most  endanger  the  peace  of  mankind.  The  fact  that 
such  newspapers  are  becoming  in  many  countries  the 
main  and  almost  exclusive  reading  of  the  poor  forms 
the  most  serious  deduction  from  the  value  of  popular 
education.  How  many  books  have  attained  popularity, 
how  many  seats  in  Parliament  have  been  won,  how 


84  THE   MAP  OF  LIFE 

many  posts  of  influence  and  profit  have  been  attained, 
how  many  party  victories  have  been  achieved,  by  appeal- 
ing to  such  passions  !  Often  they  disguise  themselves 
under  the  lofty  names  of  patriotism  and  nationality, 
and  men  whose  whole  lives  have  been  spent  in  sowing 
class  hatreds  and  dividing  kindred  nations  may  be  found 
masquerading  under  the  name  of  patriots,  and  have 
played  no  small  part  on  the  stage  of  politics.  The 
deep-seated  sedition,  the  fierce  class  and  national  hatreds 
that  run  through  European  life  would  have  a  very  dif- 
ferent intensity  from  what  they  now  unfortunately  have 
if  they  had  not  been  artificially  stimulated  and  fostered 
through  purely  selfish  motives  by  demagogues,  political 
adventurers  and  public  writers. 

Some  of  the  very  worst  acts  of  which  man  can  be 
guilty  are  acts  which  are  commonly  untouched  by  law 
and  only  faintly  censured  by  opinion.  Political  crimes 
which  a  false  and  sickly  sentiment  so  readily  condones 
are  conspicuous  among  them.  Men  who  have  been 
gambling  for  wealth  and  power  with  the  lives  and  for- 
tunes of  multitudes  ;  men  who  for  their  own  personal 
ambition  are  prepared  to  sacrifice  the  most  vital  inter- 
ests of  their  country;  men  who  in  time  of  great  national 
danger  and  excitement  deliberately  launch  falsehood 
after  falsehood  in  the  public  press  in  the  well-founded 
conviction  that  they  will  do  their  evil  work  before  they 
can  be  contradicted,  may  be  met  shameless,  and  almost 
uncensured,  in  Parliaments  and  drawing-rooms.  The 
amount  of  false  statement  in  the  world  which  cannot  be 
attributed  to  mere  carelessness,  inaccuracy,  or  exaggera- 
tion, but  which  is  plainly  both  deliberate  and  malevo- 
lent, can  hardly  be  overrated.  Sometimes  it  is  due  to  a 


COMMERCIAL  DISHONESTY  35 

mere  desire  to  create  a  lucrative  sensation,  or  to  gratify 
a  personal  dislike,  or  even  to  an  unprovoked  malevo- 
lence which  takes  pleasure  in  inflicting  pain. 

Very  often  it  is  intended  for  purposes  of  stockjob- 
bing. The  financial  world  is  percolated  with  it.  It  is 
the  common  method  of  raising  or  depreciating  securi- 
ties, attracting  investors,  preying  upon  the  ignorant  and 
credulous,  and  enabling  dishonest  men  to  rise  rapidly 
to  fortune.  When  the  prospect  of  speedy  wealth  is  in 
sight,  there  are  always  numbers  who  are  perfectly  pre- 
pared to  pursue  courses  involving  the  utter  ruin  of 
multitudes,  endangering  the  most  serious  international 
interests,  perhaps  bringing  down  upon  the  world  all  the 
calamities  of  war.  It  is  no  doubt  true  that  such  men 
are  only  a  minority,  though  it  is  less  certain  that  they 
would  be  a  minority  if  the  opportunity  of  obtaining  sud- 
den riches  by  immoral  means  was  open  to  all,  and  it  is 
no  small  minority  who  are  accustomed  to  condone 
these  crimes  when  they  have  succeeded.  It  is  much  to 
be  questioned  whether  the  greatest  criminals  are  to  be 
found  within  the  walls  of  prisons.  Dishonesty  on  a 
small  scale  nearly  always  finds  its  punishment.  Dis- 
honesty on  a  gigantic  scale  continually  escapes.  The 
pickpocket  and  the  burglar  seldom  fail  to  meet  with 
their  merited  punishment,  but  in  the  management  of 
companies,  in  the  great  fields  of  industrial  enterprise 
and  speculation,  gigantic  fortunes  are  acquired  by  the 
ruin  of  multitudes  and  by  methods  which,  though  they 
evade  legal  penalties,  are  essentially  fraudulent.  In 
the  majority  of  cases  theee  crimes  are  perpetrated  by 
educated  men  who  are  in  possession  of  all  the  necessa- 
ries, of  most  of  the  comforts,  and  of  many  of  the  luxu- 


86  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

ries  of  life,  and  some  of  the  worst  of  them  are  power- 
fully favoured  by  the  conditions  of  modern  civilisation. 
There  is  no  greater  scandal  or  moral  evil  in  our  time 
than  the  readiness  with  which  public  opinion  excuses 
them,  and  the  influence  and  social  position  it  accords 
to  mere  wealth,  even  when  it  has  been  acquired  by  noto- 
rious dishonesty  or  when  it  is  expended  with  absolute 
selfishness  or  in  ways  that  are  positively  demoralising. 
In  many  respects  the  moral  progress  of  mankind  seems 
to  me  incontestable,  but  it  is  extremely  doubtful  whether 
in  this  respect  social  morality,  especially  in  England  and 
America,  has  not  seriously  retrograded. 

In  truth,  while  it  is  a  gross  libel  upon  human  nature 
to  deny  the  vast  amount  of  genuine  kindness,  self-sac- 
rifice and  even  heroism  that  exists  in  the  world,  it  is 
equally  idle  to  deny  the  deplorable  weakness  of  self- 
restraint,  the  great  force  and  the  widespread  influence 
of  purely  evil  passions  in  the  affairs  of  men.  The  dis- 
trust of  human  character  which  the  experience  of  life 
tends  to  produce  is  one  great  cause  of  the  Conservatism 
which  so  commonly  strengthens  with  age.  It  is  more 
and  more  felt  that  all  the  restraints  of  law,  custom, 
and  religion  are  essential  to  hold  together  in  peaceful 
co-operation  the  elements  of  society,  and  men  learn  to 
look  with  increasing  tolerance  on  both  institutions  and 
opinions  which  cannot  stand  the  test  of  pure  reason  and 
may  be  largely  mixed  with  delusions  if  only  they  deepen 
the  better  habits  and  give  an  additional  strength  to 
moral  restraints.  They  learn  also  to  appreciate  the 
danger  of  pitching  their  ideals  too  high,  and  endea- 
vouring to  enforce  lines  of  conduct  greatly  above  the 
average  level  of  human  goodness.  Such  attempts,  when 


THE  IMPORTANCE  OF  COMPROMISE       §7 

they  take  the  form  of  coercive  action,  seldom  fail  to  pro- 
duce a  recoil  which  is  very  detrimental  to  morals.  In 
this,  as  in  all  other  spheres,  the  importance  of  compro- 
mise in  practical  life  is  one  of  the  great  lessons  which 
experience  teaches. 


88  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  phrase  Moral  Compromise  has  an  evil  sound,  and 
it  opens  out  questions  of  practical  ethics  which  are  very 
difficult  and  very  dangerous,  but  they  are  questions  with 
which,  consciously  or  unconsciously,  every  one  is  obliged 
to  deal.  The  contrasts  between  the  rigidity  of  theo- 
logical formulae  and  actual  life  are  on  this  subject  very 
great,  though  in  practice,  and  by  the  many  ingenious 
subtleties  that  constitute  the  science  of  casuistry,  many 
theologians  have  attempted  to  evade  them.  A  striking 
passage  from  the  pen  of  Cardinal  Newman  will  bring 
these  contrasts  into  the  clearest  light.  '  The  Church 
holds,'  he  writes,  '  that  it  were  better  for  sun  and  moon 
to  drop  from  heaven,  for  the  earth  to  fail,  and  for  all 
the  many  millions  who  are  upon  it  to  die  of  starvation 
in  extremist  agony,  so  far  as  temporal  affliction  goes, 
than  that  one  soul,  I  will  not  say  should  be  lost,  but 
should  commit  one  single  venial  sin,  should  tell  one 
wilful  untruth,  though  it  harmed  no  one,  or  steal  one 
poor  farthing  without  excuse.'  l 

It  is  certainly  no  exaggeration  to  say  that  such  a  doc- 
trine would  lead  to  consequences  absolutely  incompati- 
ble with  any  life  outside  a  hermitage  or  a  monastery.  It 
would  strike  at  the  root  of  all  civilisation,  and  although 
many  may  be  prepared  to  give  it  their  formal  assent,  no 


1  Newman's  Anglican  Difficulties,  p.  190. 


THE  MULTIPLICATION  OF  SINS  89 

human  being  actually  believes  it  with  the  kind  of  belief 
that  becomes  a  guiding  influence  in  life.  I  have  dwelt 
on  this  subject  in  another  book,  and  may  here  repeat  a 
few  lines  which  I  then  wrote.  If  '  an  undoubted  sin, 
even  the  most  trivial,  is  a  thing  in  its  essence  and  its 
consequences  so  unspeakably  dreadful  that  rather  than 
it  should  be  committed  it  would  be  better  that  any 
amount  of  calamity  which  did  not  bring  with  it  sin 
should  be  endured,  even  that  the  whole  human  race 
should  perish  in  agonies,  it  is  manifest  that  the  supreme 
object  of  humanity  should  be  sinlessness,  and  it  is 
equally  manifest  that  the  means  to  this  end  is  the  abso- 
lute suppression  of  the  desires.  To  expand  the  circle  of 
wants  is  necessarily  to  multiply  temptations  and  there- 
fore to  increase  the  number  of  sins.'  No  material  and 
intellectual  advantages,  no  increase  of  human  happi- 
ness, no  mitigation  of  the  suffering  or  dreariness  of 
human  life  can,  according  to  this  theory,  be  other  than 
an  evil  if  it  adds  even  in  the  smallest  degree  or  in  the 
most  incidental  manner  to  the  sins  that  are  committed. 
'  A  sovereign,  when  calculating  the  consequences  of  a 
war,  should  reflect  that  a  single  sin  occasioned  by  that 
war,  a  single  blasphemy  of  a  wounded  soldier,  the  rob- 
bery of  a  single  hen-coop,  the  violation  of  the  purity  of 
a  single  woman  is  a  greater  calamity  than  the  ruin  of 
the  entire  commerce  of  his  nation,  the  loss  of  her  most 
precious  provinces,  the  destruction  of  all  her  power. 
He  must  believe  that  the  evil  of  the  increase  of  unchas- 
tity  which  invariably  results  from  the  formation  of  an 
army  is  an  immeasurably  greater  calamity  than  any 
national  or  political  disasters  that  army  can  possibly 
avert.  He  must  believe  that  the  most  fearful  plagues 


90  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

and  famines  that  desolate  his  land  should  be  regarded 
as  a  matter  of  rejoicing  if  they  have  but  the  feeblest  and 
most  transient  influence  in  repressing  vice.  He  must 
believe  that  if  the  agglomeration  of  his  people  in  great 
cities  adds  but  one  to  the  number  of  their  sins,  no  pos- 
sible intellectual  or  material  advantages  can  prevent  the 
construction  of  cities  being  a  fearful  calamity.  Accord- 
ing to  this  principle  every  elaboration  of  life,  every 
amusement  that  brings  multitudes  together,  almost 
every  art,  every  accession  of  wealth,  that  awakens  or 
stimulates  desires  is  an  evil,  for  all  these  become  the 
sources  of  some  sins,  and  their  advantages  are  for  the 
most  part  purely  terrestrial.' 

Considerations  of  this  kind,  if  duly  realised,  bring  out 
clearly  the  insincerity  and  the  unreality  of  much  of  our 
professed  belief.  Hardly  any  sane  man  would  desire  to 
suppress  Bank  Holidays  simply  because  they  are  the 
occasion  of  a  considerable  number  of  cases  of  drunken- 
ness which  would  not  otherwise  have  taken  place.  No 
humane  legislator  would  hesitate  to  suppress  them  if 
they  produced  an  equal  number  of  deaths  or  other  great 
physical  calamities.  This  manner  of  measuring  the 
relative  importance  of  things  is  not  incompatible  with 
a  general  acknowledgment  of  the  fact  that  there  are 
many  amusements  which  produce  an  amount  of  moral 
evil  that  overbalances  their  advantages  as  sources  of 
pleasure,  or  of  the  great  truth  that  the  moral  is  the 
higher  and  ought  to  be  the  ruling  part  of  our  being. 
But  the  realities  of  life  cannot  be  measured  by  rigid 
theological  formulae.  Life  is  a  scene  in  which  different 
kinds  of  interest  not  only  blend  but  also  modify  and  in 
•ome  degree  counterbalance  one  another,  and  it  can 


VENIAL  FALSEHOODS  91 

only  be  carried  on  by  constant  compromises  in  which 
the  lines  of  definition  are  seldom  very  clearly  marked, 
and  in  which  even  the  highest  interest  must  not  alto- 
gether absorb  or  override  the  others.  We  have  to  deal 
with  good  principles  that  cannot  be  pushed  to  their  full 
logical  results  ;  with  varying  standards  which  cannot  be 
brought  under  inflexible  law. 

Take,  for  example,  the  many  untruths  which  the  con- 
ventional courtesies  of  Society  prescribe.  Some  of  these 
are  so  purely  matter  of  phraseology  that  they  deceive  no 
one.  Others  chiefly  serve  the  purpose  of  courteous  con- 
cealment, as  when  they  enable  us  to  refuse  a  request 
or  to  decline  an  invitation  or  a  visit  without  disclosing 
whether  disinclination  or  inability  is  the  cause.  Then 
there  are  falsehoods  for  useful  purposes.  Few  men 
would  shrink  from  a  falsehood  which  was  the  only 
means  of  saving  a  patient  from  a  shock  which  would 
probably  produce  his  death.  No  one,  I  suppose,  would 
hesitate  to  deceive  a  criminal  if  by  no  other  means  he 
could  prevent  him  from  accomplishing  a  crime.  There 
are  also  cases  of  the  suppression  of  what  we  believe  to 
be  true,  and  of  tacit  or  open  acquiescence  in  what  we 
believe  to  be  false,  when  a  full  and  truthful  disclosure 
of  our  own  beliefs  might  destroy  the  happiness  of  others, 
or  subvert  beliefs  which  are  plainly  necessary  for  their 
moral  well-being.  Cases  of  this  kind  will  continually 
occur  in  life,  and  a  good  man  who  deals  with  each  case 
as  it  arises  will  probably  find  no  great  difficulty  in  steer- 
ing his  course.  But  the  vague  and  fluctuating  lines  of 
moral  compromise  cannot  without  grave  moral  danger 
be  reduced  to  fixed  rules  to  be  carried  out  to  their  full 
logical  consequences.  The  immortal  pages  of  Pascal 


92  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

are  sufficient  to  show  to  what  extremes  of  immorality 
the  doctrine  that  the  end  justifies  the  means  has  been 
pushed  by  the  casuists  of  the  Church  of  which  Cardinal 
Newman  was  so  great  an  ornament. 

A  large  and  difficult  field  of  moral  compromise  is 
opened  out  in  the  case  of  war,  which  necessarily  in- 
volves a  complete  suspension  of  great  portions  of  the 
moral  law.  This  is  not  merely  the  case  in  unjust  wars  ; 
it  applies  also,  though  in  a  less  degree,  to  those  which 
are  most  necessary  and  most  righteous.  War  is  not, 
and  never  can  be,  a  mere  passionless  discharge  of  a  pain- 
ful duty.  It  is  in  its  essence,  and  it  is  a  main  condition 
of  its  success,  to  kindle  into  fierce  exercise  among  great 
masses  of  men  the  destructive  and  combative  passions — 
passions  as  fierce  and  as  malevolent  as  that  with  which 
the  hound  hunts  the  fox  to  its  death  or  the  tiger 
springs  upon  its  prey.  Destruction  is  one  of  its  chief 
ends.  Deception  is  one  of  its  chief  means,  and  one  of 
the  great  arts  of  skilful  generalship  is  to  deceive  in  order 
to  destroy.  Whatever  other  elements  may  mingle  with 
and  dignify  war,  this  at  least  is  never  absent ;  and  how- 
ever reluctantly  men  may  enter  into  war,  however  con- 
scientiously they  may  endeavour  to  avoid  it,  they  must 
know  that  when  the  scene  of  carnage  has  once  opened 
these  things  must  be  not  only  accepted  and  condoned, 
but  stimulated,  encouraged  and  applauded.  It  would 
be  difficult  to  conceive  a  disposition  more  remote  from 
the  morals  of  ordinary  life,  not  to  speak  of  Christian 
ideals,  than  that  with  which  the  soldiers  most  animated 
with  the  fire  and  passion  that  lead  to  victory  rush  for- 
ward to  bayonet  the  foe. 
(  War  indeed,  which  is  absolutely  indispensable  in  our 


THE  MORALS  OF  WAR  93 

present  stage  of  civilisation,  lias  its  own  morals  which 
are  very  different  from  those  of  peaceful  life.  Yet 
there  are  few  fields  in  which,  through  the  stress  of 
moral  motives,  greater  changes  have  been  effected.  <^In 
the  early  stages  of  human  history  it  was  simply  a  ques- 
tion of  power.  There  was  no  distinction  between  piracy 
and  regular  war,  and  incursions  into  a  neighbouring 
State  without  provocation  and  with  the  sole  purpose  of 
plunder  brought  with  them  no  moral  blame.  To  carry 
the  inhabitants  of  a  conquered  country  into  slavery  ;  to 
slaughter  the  whole  population  of  a  besieged  town  ;  to 
destroy  over  vast  tracts  every  town,  village  and  house, 
and  to  put  to  death  every  prisoner,  were  among  the  or- 
dinary incidents  of  war.  These  things  were  done  with- 
out reproach  in  the  best  periods  of  Greek  and  Koman 
civilisation.^  In  many  cases  neither  age  nor  sex  was 
spared  ! l  In  Eome  the  conquered  general  was  strangled 
or  starved  to  death  in  the  Mamertine  prison.  Tens 
of  thousands  of  captives  were  condemned  to  perish  in 
gladiatorial  shows.  Julius  Caesar,  whose  clemency  has 
been  so  greatly  extolled,  '  executed  the  whole  senate  of 
the  Veneti  ;  permitted  a  massacre  of  the  Usipetes  and 
Tencteri  ;  sold  as  slaves  40,000  natives  of  Genabum  ; 
and  cut  off  the  right  hands  of  all  the  brave  men  whose 
only  crime  was  that  they  held  to  the  last  against  him 
their  town  of  Uxellodunum.' 2  No  slaughter  in  history 
is  more  terrible  than  that  which  took  place  at  Jerusa- 

1  See  Grotius,  de  Jure,  book  facts  on  this  subject  in  my  His- 

iii.  ch.  iv.     On  the  Jewish  no-  tory  of  European  Morals. 

tions  on  this  subject,  see  Deut.  a  Tyrrell  and  Purser's  Corre- 

ii.  34  ;  vii.  2,  16  ;  xx.  10-16  ;  spondence  of  Cicero,  vol.  v.  p. 

Psalm  cxxxvii.  9;  1  Sam.  xv.  3.  xlvii. 
I  hav«  collected  some  additional 


94  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

lem  under  the  general  who  was  called  '  the  delight  of 
the  human  race/  and  when  the  last  spasm  of  resistance 
had  ceased,  Titus  sent  Jewish  captives,  both  male  and 
female,  by  thousands  to  the  provincial  amphitheatres  to 
be  devoured  by  wild  beasts  or  slaughtered  as  gladiators. 
Yet  from  a  very  early  period  lines  were  drawn  form- 
ing a  clear  though  somewhat  arbitrary  code  of  military 
morals.  In  Greece  a  broad  distinction  was  made  be- 
tween wars  with  Greek  States  and  with  Barbarians,  the 
latter  being  regarded  as  almost  outside  the  pale  of  moral 
consideration.  It  is  a  distinction  which  in  reality  was 
not  very  widely  different  from  that  which  Christian 
nations  have  in  practice  continually  made  between  wars 
within  the  borders  of  Christendom,  and  wars  with  sa- 
vage or  pagan  nations.  Greek,  and  perhaps  still  more 
Roman,  moralists  have  written  much  on  the  just  causes 
of  war.  Many  of  them  condemn  all  unjust,  aggressive, 
or  even  unnecessary  wars.  Some  of  them  insist  on  the 
duty  of  States  always  endeavouring  by  conferences,  or 
even  by  arbitration,  to  avert  war,  and  although  these 
precepts,  like  the  corresponding  precepts  of  Christian 
divines,  were  often  violated,  they  were  certainly  not 
without  some  influence  on  affairs.  It  is  probably  not 
too  much  to  say  that  in  this  respect  Roman  wars  do  not 
compare  unfavourably  with  those  of  Christian  periods. 
It  is  remarkable  how  large  a  part  of  the  best  Christian 
works  on  the  ethics  of  war  is  based  on  the  precepts  of 
pagan  moralists,  and  although  in  antiquity  as  in  mo- 
dern times  the  real  cause  of  war  was  often  very  different 
from  the  pretexts,  the  sense  of  justice  in  war  was  as 
clearly  marked  in  Roman  as  in  most  Christian  periods.1 

1  See  Grotius,  de  Jure  Belli  et  Pads. 


DECLARATIONS  OF  WAR  95 

Great  stress  was  laid  upon  the  duty  of  a  formal  dec- 
laration of  war  preceding  hostilities.  Polybius  men- 
tions the  reprobation  that  was  attached  in  Greece  to  the 
^Etolians  for  having  neglected  this  custom.  It  was 
universal  in  Roman  times,  and  during  the  mediaeval 
period  the  custom  of  sending  a  challenge  to  the  hostile 
power  was  carefully  observed.  In  modern  times  formal 
declaration  of  war  has  fallen  greatly  into  desuetude. 
The  hostilities  between  England  and  Spain  under  Eliza- 
beth, and  the  invasion  of  Germany  by  Gustavus  Adol- 
phus,  were  begun  without  any  such  declaration,  and 
there  have  been  numerous  instances  in  later  times.1 

The  treatment  of  prisoners  has  been  profoundly  modi- 
fied. Quarter,  it  is  true,  has  been  very  often  refused  in 
modern  wars  to  rebels,  to  soldiers  in  mutiny,  to  revolted 
slaves,  to  savages  who  themselves  give  no  quarter.  It 
has  been  often — perhaps  generally — refused  to  irregular 
soldiers  like  the  French  Francs-tireurs  in  the  War  of 
1870,  who  without  uniforms  endeavoured  to  defend 
their  homes  against  invasion.  It  was  long  refused  to 
soldiers  who,  having  rejected  terms  of  surrender,  con- 
tinued to  defend  an  indefensible  place,  but  this  severity 
during  the  last  three  centuries  has  been  generally  con- 
demned. But,  on  the  whole,  the  treatment  of  the  con- 
quered soldier  has  steadily  improved.  At  one  time  he 
was  killed.  At  another  he  was  preserved  as  a  slave. 
Then  he  was  permitted  to  free  himself  by  payment  of 

1  Much  information  on  this  wars  inEurope  have  commenced 

subject  will  be  found  in  a  re-  during  the  last  two  centuries,  by 

markable    pamphlet     (said    to  the  Author  of  the  History  and 

have  been  corrected   by  Pitt)  Foundation  of  the  Law  of  Na- 

called    'An  Enquiry  into  the  tions  in  Europe' (1805). 
Manner  in  which  the  different 


96  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

a  ransom  ;  now  he  is  simply  kept  in  custody  till  he  is 
exchanged  or  released  on  parole,  or  till  the  termination 
of  the  war.  In  the  latter  half  of  the  present  century 
many  elaborate  and  beneficent  regulations  for  the  pre- 
servation of  hospitals  and  the  good  treatment  of  the 
wounded  have  been  sanctioned  by  international  agree- 
ment. The  distinction  between  the  civil  population 
and  combatants  has  been  increasingly  observed.  As  a 
general  rule  non-combatants,  if  they  do  not  obstruct 
the  enemy,  are  subjected  to  no  further  injury  than  that 
of  paying  war  contributions  and  in  other  ways  provid- 
ing for  the  subsistence  of  the  invaders.  The  wanton 
destruction  of  private  property  has  been  more  and  more 
avoided.  Such  an  act  as  the  devastation  of  the  Palati- 
nate under  Louis  XIV.  would  now  in  a  European  war  be 
universally  condemned,  though  the  wholesale  destruc- 
tion of  villages  in  our  own  Indian  frontier  wars  and  the 
methods  employed  on  both  sides  in  the  civil  war  in 
Cuba  appear  to  have  borne  much  resemblance  to  it.  In 
the  treatment  of  merchants  the  rule  of  reciprocity  which 
was  laid  down  in  Magna  Charta  is  largely  observed,  and 
the  Conference  of  Brussels  in  1874  pronounced  it  to  be 
contrary  to  the  laws  of  war  to  bombard  an  unfortified 
town.  The  great  Civil  "War  in  America  probably  con- 
tributed not  a  little  to  raise  the  standard  of  humanity 
in  war  ;  for  while  few  long  wars  have  been  fought  with 
such  determination  or  at  the  cost  of  so  many  lives,  very 
few  have  been  conducted  with  such  a  scrupulous  absti- 
nence from  acts  of  wanton  barbarity. 

Many  restrictive  rules  also  have  been  accepted  tend- 
ing in  a  small  degree  to  mitigate  the  actual  operations 
of  war,  and  they  have  had  some  real  influence  in  this 


THE  ETHICS  OF  WAR  97 

direction,  though  it  is  not  possible  to  justify  the  mili- 
tary code  on  any  clear  principle  either  of  ethics  or  logic. 
Assassination  and  the  encouragement  of  assassination  ; 
the  use  of  poison  or  poisoned  weapons  ;  the  violation  of 
parole  ;  the  deceptive  use  of  a  flag  of  truce  or  of  the 
red  cross  ;  the  slaughter  of  the  wounded  ;  the  infringe- 
ment of  terms  of  surrender  or  of  other  distinct  agree- 
ments, are  absolutely  forbidden,  and  in  1868  the  Repre- 
sentatives of  the  European  Powers  assembled  at  St. 
Petersburg  agreed  to  abolish  the  use  in  war  of  explosive 
bullets  below  the  weight  of  14  ounces,  and  to  forbid  the 
propagation  in  an  enemy's  country  of  contagious  dis- 
ease as  an  instrument  of  war.  It  laid  down  the  general 
principle  that  the  object  of  war  is  confined  to  disabling 
the  enemy,  and  that  weapons  calculated  to  inflict  un- 
necessary suffering,  beyond  what  is  required  for  attain- 
ing that  object,  should  be  prohibited.  At  the  same 
time  explosive  shells,  concealed  mines,  torpedoes  and 
ambuscades  lie  fully  within  the  permitted  agencies  of 
war.  Starvation  may  be  employed,  and  the  cutting 
off  of  the  supply  of  water,  or  the  destruction  of  that 
supply  by  mixing  with  it  something  not  absolutely  poi- 
sonous which  renders  it  undrinkable.  It  is  allowable  to 
deceive  an  enemy  by  fabricated  despatches  purporting 
to  come  from  his  own  side  ;  by  tampering  with  tele- 
graph messages  ;  by  spreading  false  intelligence  in  news- 
papers ;  by  sending  pretended  spies  and  deserters  to 
give  him  untrue  reports  of  the  numbers  or  movements 
of  the  troops ;  by  employing  false  signals  to  lure  him 
into  an  ambuscade.  On  the  use  of  the  flag  and  uni- 
form of  an  enemy  for  purposes  of  deception  there  has 
been  some  controversy,  but  it  is  supported  by  high  mili- 
7 


98  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

tary  authority.1  The  use  of  spies  is  fully  authorised, 
but  the  spy,  if  discovered,  is  excluded  from  the  rights 
of  war  and  liable  to  an  ignominious  death. 

Apart  from  the  questions  I  have  discussed  there  is 
another  class  of  questions  connected  with  war  which 
present  great  difficulty.  It  is  the  right  of  men  to  abdi- 
cate their  private  judgment  by  entering  into  the  mili- 
tary profession.  In  small  nations  this  question  is  not 
of  much  importance,  for  in  them  wars  are  of  very  rare 
occurrence  and  are  usually  for  self-defence.  lu  a  great 
empire  it  is  wholly  different.  Hardly  any  one  will  be 
so  confident  of  the  virtue  of  his  rulers  as  to  believe  that 
every  war  which  his  country  wages  in  every  part  of  its 
dominions,  with  uncivilised  as  well  as  civilised  popula- 
tions, is  just  and  necessary,  and  it  is  certainly  primd 
facie  not  in  accordance  with  an  ideal  morality  that  men 
should  bind  themselves  absolutely  for  life  or  for  a  term 
of  years  to  kill  without  question,  at  the  command  of 
their  superiors,  those  who  have  personally  done  them  no 
wrong.  Yet  this  unquestioning  obedience  is  the  very 
essence  of  military  discipline,  and  without  it  the  effi- 
ciency of  armies  and  the  safety  of  nations  would  be 
hopelessly  destroyed.  It  is  necessary  to  the  great  inter- 
ests of  society,  and  therefore  it  is  maintained,  strength- 
ened by  the  obligation  of  an  oath  and  still  more  effica- 


1  See  Tovey's  Martial  Law  its  harbour  in  order  that  Dutch, 

and  the  Custom  of  War,  part  2,  French,  Spanish  and  American 

pp.  13,  29.     A  striking  instance  ships  which  were  ignorant  of  the 

of  the  deceptive  use  of  a  flag  oc-  capture  might  be  decoyed  into 

curred  in  1781,  when  the  Eng-  the  harbour  and  seized  as  prizes, 

lish,  having  captured  St.  Eusta-  Some  writers  on   military  law 

tius  from  the  Dutch,  allowed  maintain  that  this  was  within 

the  Dutch  flag  still  to  float  over  the  rights  of  war, 


ENLISTMENT  IN  FOREIGN  ARMIES  99 

ciouBly  by  a  code  of  honour  which  is  one  of  the  strongest 
binding  influences  by  which  men  can  be  governed. 

It  is  not,  however,  altogether  absolute,  and  a  vari- 
ety of  distinctions  and  compromises  have  been  made. 
There  is  a  difference  between  the  man  who  enlists  in 
the  army  of  his  own  country  and  a  man  who  enlists  in 
foreign  service  either  permanently  or  for  the  duration 
of  a  single  war.  If  a  man  unnecessarily  takes  an  active 
part  in  a  struggle  between  two  countries  other  than  his 
own,  it  may  at  least  be  demanded  that  he  should  be 
actuated,  not  by  a  mere  spirit  of  adventure  or  personal 
ambition,  but  by  a  strong  and  reasoned  conviction  that 
the  cause  which  he  is  supporting  is  a  righteous  one. 
The  conduct  of  a  man  who  enlists  in  a  foreign  army 
which  may  possibly  be  used  against  his  own  country,  and 
who  at  least  binds  himself  to  obey  absolutely  chiefs  who 
have  no  natural  authority  over  him,  has  been  much  con- 
demned, but  even  here  special  circumstances  must  be 
taken  into  account.  Few  persons  I  suppose  would  seri- 
ously blame  the  Irish  Catholics  of  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury who  filled  the  armies  of  France,  Austria,  Spain 
and  Naples  at  a  time  when  disqualifying  laws  excluded 
them,  on  account  of  their  religion,  from  the  British 
army  and  from  almost  every  path  of  ambition  at  home. 
There  is  also  perhaps  some  distinction  between  the  posi- 
tion of  a  soldier  who  is  obliged  to  serve,  and  a  soldier  in 
a  country  where  enlisting  is  voluntary,  and  also  between 
the  position  of  an  officer  who  can  throw  up  his  commis- 
sion without  infringing  the  law,  and  a  private  who  can- 
not abandon  his  flag  without  committing  a  grave  legal 
offence.  At  the  beginning  of  the  war  of  the  American 
Revolution  some  English  officers  left  the  army  rather 


100  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

than  serve  in  a  cause  which,  they  believed  to  be  unright- 
eous. It  was  in  their  full  power  to  do  so,  but  probably 
none  of  them  would  have  desired  that  private  soldiers 
who  had  no  legal  choice  in  the  matter  should  have  fol- 
lowed their  example  and  become  deserters  from  the 
ranks. 

There  are,  however,  extreme  cases  in  which  the  viola- 
tion of  the  military  oath  and  disobedience  to  military 
discipline  are  justified.  More  than  once  in  French  his- 
tory an  usurper  or  his  agent  has  ordered  soldiers  to 
coerce  or  fire  upon  the  representatives  of  the  nation. 
In  such  cases  it  has  been  said  '  the  conscience  of  the 
soldier  is  the  liberty  of  the  people,'  and  the  refusal  of 
private  soldiers  to  obey  a  plainly  illegal  order  will  be 
generally  though  not  universally  applauded.  In  all 
such  cases,  however,  there  is  much  obscurity  and  in- 
consistency of  judgment.  The  rule  that  the  moral  re- 
sponsibility falls  exclusively  on  the  person  who  gives  the 
order,  and  that  the  private  has  no  voice  or  responsibility, 
will  even  here  be  maintained  by  some.  Ought  a  private 
soldier  to  have  refused  to  take  part  in  such  an  execution 
as  that  of  the  Due  d'Enghien,  or  in  the  Coup  d'Etat  of 
Napoleon  III.  ?  Ought  he  to  refuse  to  fire  on  a  mob 
if  he  doubts  the  legality  of  the  order  of  his  superior 
officer  ?  In  such  cases  there  is  sometimes  a  direct  con- 
flict between  the  civil  and  the  military  law,  and  there 
have  been  instances  in  which  a  soldier  might  be  punish- 
able before  the  first  for  acts  which  were  absolutely  en- 
forced by  the  second.1 

Perhaps  the  strongest  case  of  justifiable  disobedience 


1  See  Fitzjames  Stephen's  History  of  the  Criminal  Law,  i.  205. 


MILITARY  ORDERS  INVOLVING  APOSTASY 

that  can  be  alleged  is  when  a  soldier  is  ordered  to 
do  something  which  involves  apostasy  from  his  faith, 
though  even  here  it  would  be  difficult  to  show,  in  the 
light  of  pure  reason,  that  this  is  a  graver  thing  than  to 
kill  innocent  men  in  an  unrighteous  cause.  In  the 
Early  Church  there  were  some  soldier  martyrs  who  suf- 
fered death  because  they  believed  it  inconsistent  with 
their  faith  to  bear  arms,  or  because  they  were  asked  to 
do  some  acts  which  savoured  of  idolatry.  The  story  of 
the  Thebasan  legion  which  was  said  to  have  been  mar- 
tyred under  Diocletian  rests  on  no  trustworthy  autho- 
rity, but  it  illustrates  the  feeling  of  the  Church  on  the 
subject.  Josephus  tells  how  Jewish  soldiers  refused  in 
spite  of  all  punishments  to  bring  earth  with  the  other 
soldiers  for  the  reparation  of  the  Temple  of  Belus  at 
Babylon.  Conflicts  between  military  duty  and  religious 
duty  must  have  not  unfrequently  arisen  during  the  re- 
ligious wars  of  the  sixteenth  century,  and  in  our  own 
century  and  in  our  own  army  there  have  been  instances 
of  soldiers  refusing  through  religious  motives  to  escort 
or  protect  idolatrous  processions  in  India,  or  to  present 
arms  in  Catholic  countries  when  the  Host  was  passing. 
Quaker  opinions  about  war  are  absolutely  inconsistent 
with  the  compulsory  service  which  prevails  in  nearly 
all  European  countries,  and  religious  scruples  about 
conscription  have  been  among  the  motives  that  have 
brought  the  Russian  Easkolniks  into  collision  with  the 
civil  power. 

One  of  the  most  serious  instances  of  the  collision  of 
duties  in  our  time  is  furnished  by  the  great  Sepoy  Mu- 
tiny of  1857.  From  the  days  of  Clive,  Sepoy  soldiers 
have  served  under  the  British  flag  with  an  admirable 


102  THE  MAP  OF  L1FE 

fidelity,  and  the  Mutiny  of  Vellore  in  1806,  which  was 
the  one  exception,  was  due,  like  that  of  1857,  to  a  be- 
lief that  the  British  Government  were  interfering  with 
their  faith.  Few  things  in  the  history  of  the  great 
Mutiny  are  so  touching  as  the  profound  belief  of  the 
English  commanders  of  the  Sepoy  regiments  in  the  un- 
alterable loyalty  of  their  soldiers.  Many  of  them  lost 
their  lives  through  this  belief,  refusing  even  to  the  last 
moment  and  in  spite  of  all  evidence  to  abandon  it. 
They  were  deceived,  and,  in  the  fierce  outburst  of  indig- 
nation that  followed,  the  conduct  of  the  Sepoy  soldiers 
was  branded  as  the  blackest  and  the  most  unprovoked 
treachery. 

Yet  assuredly  no  charge  was  less  true.  Agitators  for 
their  own  selfish  purposes  had  indeed  acted  upon  the 
troops,  but  recent  researches  have  fully  proved  that  the 
real  as  well  as  the  ostensible  cause  of  the  Mutiny  was 
the  greased  cartridges.  It  was  believed  that  the  cart- 
ridges which  had  been  recently  issued  for  the  Sepoy  regi- 
ments were  smeared  with  a  mixture  of  cow's  fat  and 
pig's  fat,  one  of  these  ingredients  being  utterly  impure 
in  the  eyes  of  the  Hindoo,  and  the  other  in  the  eyes  of 
the  Mussulman.  To  bite  these  cartridges  would  destroy 
the  caste  of  the  Hindoo  and  carry  with  it  the  loss  of 
everything  that  was  most  dear  and  most  sacred  to  him 
both  in  this  world  and  in  the  next.  In  the  eyes  both 
of  the  Moslem  and  the  Hindoo  it  was  the  gravest  and 
the  most  irreparable  of  crimes,  destroying  all  hopes  in 
a  future  world,  and  yet  this  crime,  in  their  belief,  was 
imposed  upon  them  as  a  matter  of  military  duty  by 
their  officers.  It  was  as  if  the  Puritan  soldiers  of  the 
seventeenth  century  had  been  ordered  by  their  com- 


THE  INDIAN  MUTINY  103 

manders  to  abjure  their  hopes  of  salvation  and  to  repu- 
diate and  insult  the  Christian  faith. 

It  is  true  that  the  existence  of  these  obnoxious  ingre- 
dients in  the  new  cartridges  was  solemnly  denied,  but 
the  sincerity  of  the  Sepoy  belief  is  incontestable,  and 
General  Anson,  the  commander-in-chief,  having  exam- 
ined the  cartridges,  was  compelled  to  admit  that  it  was 
very  plausible.1  'I  am  not  so  much  surprised,'  he 
wrote  to  Lord  Canning,  'at  their  objections  to  the 
cartridges,  having  seen  them.  I  had  no  idea  they  con- 
tained, or  rather  are  smeared  with  such  a  quantity  of 
grease,  which  looks  exactly  like  fat.  After  ramming 
down  the  ball,  the  muzzle  of  the  musket  is  covered 
with  it.' 

Unfortunately  this  is  not  a  complete  statement  of  the 
case.  It  is  a  shameful  and  terrible  truth  that,  as  far  as 
the  fact  was  concerned,  the  Sepoys  were  perfectly  right 
in  their  belief.  In  the  words  of  Lord  Koberte,  '  The 
recent  researches  of  Mr.  Forrest  in  the  records  of  the 
Government  of  India  prove  that  the  lubricating  mix- 
ture used  in  preparing  the  cartridges  was  actually  com- 
posed of  the  objectionable  ingredients,  cow's  fat  and 
lard,  and  that  incredible  disregard  of  the  soldiers'  re- 
ligious prejudices  was  displayed  in  the  manufacture  of 
these  cartridges. ' 2  This  was  certainly  not  due,  as  the 
Sepoys  imagined,  to  any  desire  on  the  part  of  the  Brit- 
ish authorities  to  destroy  caste  or  to  prepare  the  way  for 
the  conversion  of  the  Sepoys  to  Christianity.  It  was 
simply  a  glaring  instance  of  the  indifference,  ignorance 


1  Lord  Roberts'  Forty-one  Tears  in  India,  i.  94.      *  Ibid. 
431. 


104  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

and  incapacity  too  often  shown  by  British  administra- 
tors in  dealing  with  beliefs  and  types  of  character  wholly 
unlike  their  own.  They  were  unable  to  realise  that  a 
belief  which  seemed  to  them  so  childish  could  have  any 
depth,  and  they  accordingly  produced  a  Mutiny  that 
for  a  time  shook  the  English  power  in  India  to  its  very 
foundation. 

The  horrors  of  Cawnpore — which  were  due  to  a  single 
man — soon  took  away  from  the  British  public  all  power 
of  sanely  judging  the  conflict,  and  a  struggle  in  which 
no  quarter  was  given  was  naturally  marked  by  extreme 
savageness ;  but  in  looking  back  upon  it,  English 
writers  must  acknowledge  with  humiliation  that,  if  mu- 
tiny is  ever  justifiable,  no  stronger  justification  could 
be  given  than  that  of  the  Sepoy  troops. 

Many  of  my  readers  will  remember  an  exquisite  little 
poem  called  'The  Forced  Recruit,'  in  which  Mrs. 
Browning  has  described  a  young  Venetian  soldier  who 
was  forced  by  the  conscription  to  serve  against  his  fel- 
low-countrymen in  the  Austrian  army  at  Solf  erino,  and 
who  advanced  cheerfully  to  die  by  the  Italian  guns, 
holding  a  musket  that  had  never  been  loaded  in  his 
hand .  Such  a  figure,  such  a  violation  of  military  law, 
will  claim  the  sympathy  of  all,  but  a  very  different 
judgment  should  be  passed  upon  those  who,  having  vo- 
luntarily entered  an  army,  betray  their  trust  and  their 
oath  in  the  name  of  patriotism.  In  the  Fenian  move- 
ment in  Ireland,  one  of  the  chief  objects  of  the  con- 
spirators was  to  corrupt  the  Irish  soldiers  and  break 
down  that  high  sense  of  military  honour  for  which  in 
all  times  and  in  many  armies  the  Irish  people  have  been 
conspicuous.  '  The  epidemic  '  [of  disaffection],  boasts 


FENIANISM  IN  THE  ARMY  1Q5 

a  writer  who  was  much  mixed  in  the  conspiracies  of 
those  times,  '  was  not  an  affair  of  individuals,  but  of 
companies  and  of  whole  regiments.  To  attempt  to  im- 
peach all  the  military  Fenians  before  courts  martial 
would  have  been  to  throw  England  into  a  panic,  if  not 
to  precipitate  an  appalling  mutiny  and  invite  foreign 
invasion.' l 

I  do  not  quote  these  words  as  a  true  statement.  They 
are,  I  believe,  a  gross  exaggeration  and  a  gross  calumny 
on  the  Irish  soldiers,  nor  do  I  doubt  that  most,  if  not 
all,  the  soldiers  who  may  have  been  induced  over  a  glass 
of  whiskey,  or  through  the  persuasions  of  some  cunning 
agitator,  to  take  the  Fenian  oath  would,  if  an  actual 
conflict  had  arisen,  have  proved  perfectly  faithful  sol- 
diers of  the  Queen.  The  perversion  of  morals,  how- 
ever, which  looks  on  such  violations  of  military  duty 
as  praiseworthy,  has  not  been  confined  to  writers  of  the 
stamp  of  Mr.  O'Brien.  A  striking  instance  of  it  is 
furnished  by  a  recent  American  biography.  Among 
the  early  Fenian  conspirators  was  a  young  man  named 
John  Boyle  O'Reilly.  He  was  a  genuine  enthusiast, 
with  a  real  vein  of  literary  talent ;  in  the  closing  years 
of  his  life  he  won  the  affection  and  admiration  of  very 
honourable  men,  and  I  should  certainly  have  no  wish 
to  look  too  harshly  on  youthful  errors  which  were  the 
result  of  a  misguided  enthusiasm  if  they  had  been 
acknowledged  as  such.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  however, 
he  began  his  career  by  an  act  which,  according  to  ever/ 
sound  principle  of  morality,  religion,  and  secular  honour, 


1  Contemporary    Review,    May    1897.      Article    by    "William 
O'Brien,   '  Was  Fenianism  ever  Formidable  ? ' 


106  THE  m*  OF  L1FE 

was  in  the  highest  degree  culpable.    Being  a  sworn  Fe- 
nian, he  entered  a  regiment  of  hussars,  assumed  the 
uniform  of  the  Queen,  and  took  the  oath  of  allegiance 
for  the  express  purpose  of  betraying  his  trust  and 
seducing  the  soldiers  of  his  regiment.    He  was  de- 
tected and  condemned  to  penal  servitude,  and  he  at  last 
escaped  to  America,  where  he  took  an  active  part  in  the 
Fenian  movement.     After  his  death  his  biography  was 
written  in  a  strain  of  unqualified  eulogy,  but  the  bi- 
ographer has  honestly  and  fully  disclosed  the  facts  which 
I  have  related.    This  book  has  an  introduction  written 
by  Cardinal  Gibbons,  one  of  the  most  prominent  Cath- 
olic divines  in  the  United  States.     The  reader  may  be 
curious  to  see  how  the  act  of  aggravated  treachery  and 
perjury  which  it  revealed  was  judged  by  a  personage 
who  occupies  all  but  the  highest  position  in  a  Church 
which  professes  to  be  the  supreme  and  inspired  teacher 
of  morals.     Not  a  word  in  this  Introduction  implies 
that  O'Reilly  had  done  any  act  for  which  he  should 
be  ashamed.     He  is  described  as  '  a  great  and  good 
man/  and  the  only  allusion  to  his  crime  is  in  the  fol- 
lowing terms  :  '  In  youth  his  heart  agonises  over  that 
saddest  and  strangest  romance  in   all  history — the 
wrongs  and  woes  of  his  motherland — that  Niobe  of  the 
Nations.     In  manhood,  because  he  dared  to  wish  her 
free,  he  finds  himself  a  doomed  felon,  an  exiled  con- 
vict, in  what  he  calls  himself  the  Nether  World.  .  .  . 
The  Divine  faith  implanted  in  his  soul  in  childhood 
flourished  there  undyingly,  pervaded  his  whole  be- 
ing with  its  blessed  influences,  furnished  his  noblest 
ideals  of  thought  and  conduct.  .  .  .  The  country  of 
his  adoption  vies  with  the  land  of  his  birth  in  testify- 


A  CARDINAL'S  VIEWS  107 

ing  to  the  uprightness*  of  his  life.  .  .  .  With  all  these 
voices  I  blend  my  own,  and  in  their  name  I  say  that 
the  world  is  brighter  for  having  possessed  him/  ' 


1  Roche's  Life  of  John  Boyle  O'Reilly,  with  introduction  by 
Cardinal  Gibbons.  Since  the  publication  of  this  book  Cardinal 
Gibbons  has  written  a  letter  to  the  Tablet  (Dec.  2, 1899),  in  which 
he  says  :  '  I  feel  it  due  to  myself  and  the  interests  of  truth  to 
declare  that  till  I  read  Mr.  Lecky's  criticism  I  did  not  know  that 
Mr.  O'Reilly  had  ever  been  a  Fenian  or  a  British  soldier,  or  that 
he  had  tried  to  seduce  other  soldiers  from  their  allegiance.  In 
fact,  up  to  this  moment,  I  have  never  read  a  line  of  the  biog- 
raphy for  which  I  wrote  the  introduction.  .  .  .  My  only  ac- 
quaintance with  Mr.  O'Reilly's  history  before  he  came  to  America 
was  the  vague  information  I  had  that,  for  some  political  offence, 
the  exact  nature  of  which  I  did  not  learn,  he  had  been  exiled 
from  his  native  land  to  a  penal  colony,  from  which  he  after- 
wards escaped.' 

I  gladly  accept  this  assurance  of  Cardinal  Gibbons,  though  I 
am  surprised  that  he  should  not  have  even  glanced  at  the  book 
which  he  introduced,  and  that  he  should  have  been  absolutely 
ignorant  of  the  most  conspicuous  event  of  the  life  which,  from 
early  youth,  he  held  up  to  unqualified  admiration.  I  regret, 
too,  that  he  has  not  taken  the  opportunity  of  this  letter  to  repro- 
bate a  form  of  moral  perversion  which  is  widely  spread  among 
his  Irish  co-religionists,  and  which  his  own  words  are  only  too 
likely  to  strengthen.  It  is  but  a  short  time  since  an  Irish  Na- 
tionalist Member  of  Parliament,  being  accused  of  once  having 
served  the  Queen  as  a  Volunteer,  justified  himself  by  saying  that 
he  had  only  worn  the  coat  which  was  worn  by  Lord  Edward 
Fitzgerald  and  Boyle  O'Reilly  ;  while  another  Irish  Nationalist 
Member  of  Parliament,  at  a  public  meeting  in  Dublin,  and 
amid  the  cheers  of  his  audience,  expressed  his  hope  that  in  the 
South  African  war  the  Irish  soldiers  under  the  British  flag  would 
fire  on  the  English  instead  of  oil  the  Boers. 


103  THE  MAP  OF 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  foregoing  chapter  will  have  shown  sufficiently  how 
largely  in  one  great  and  necessary  profession  the  ele- 
ment of  moral  compromise  must  enter,  and  will  show 
the  nature  of  some  of  the  moral  difficulties  that  attend 
it.  We  find  illustrations  of  much  the  same  kind  in  the 
profession  of  an  advocate.  In  the  interests  of  the  proper 
administration  of  justice  it  is  of  the  utmost  importance 
that  every  cause,  however  defective,  and  every  criminal, 
however  bad,  should  be  fully  defended,  and  it  is  there- 
fore indispensable  that  there  should  be  a  class  of  men 
entrusted  with  this  duty.  It  is  the  business  of  the 
judge  and  of  the  jury  to  decide  on  the  merits  of  the 
case,  but  in  order  that  they  should  discharge  this  func- 
tion it  is  necessary  that  the  arguments  on  both  sides 
should  be  laid  before  them  in  the  strongest  form.  The 
clear  interest  of  society  requires  this,  and  a  standard  of 
professional  honour  and  etiquette  is  formed  for  the  pur- 
pose of  regulating  the  action  of  the  advocate.  Misstate- 
ments  of  facts  or  of  law  ;  misquotations  of  documents  ; 
strong  expressions  of  personal  opinion,  and  some  other 
devices  by  which  verdicts  may  be  won,  are  condemned  ; 
there  are  cases  which  an  honourable  lawyer  will  not 
adopt,  and  there  are  rare  cases  in  which,  in  the  course 
of  a  trial,  he  will  find  it  his  duty  to  throw  up  his  brief. 
But  necessary  and  honourable  as  the  profession  may 
be,  there  are  sides  of  it  which  are  far  from  being  in 


MORAL  COMPROMISE  IN   THE  LAW 


accordance  with  an  austere  code  of  ideal  morals.  It  is 
idle  to  suppose  that  a  master  of  the  art  of  advocacy  will 
merely  confine  himself  to  a  calm,  dispassionate  state- 
ment of  the  facts  and  arguments  of  his  side.  He  will 
inevitably  use  all  his  powers  of  rhetoric  and  persuasion 
to  make  the  cause  for  which  he  holds  a  brief  appear 
true,  though  he  knows  it  to  be  false  ;  he  will  affect  a 
warmth  which  he  does  not  feel  and  a  conviction  which 
he  does  not  hold  ;  he  will  skilfully  avail  himself  of  any 
mistake  or  omission  of  his  opponent  ;  of  any  technical 
rule  that  can  exclude  damaging  evidence  ;  of  all  the 
resources  that  legal  subtlety  and  severe  cross-examina- 
tion can  furnish  to  confuse  dangerous  issues,  to  obscure 
or  minimise  inconvenient  facts,  to  discredit  hostile  wit- 
nesses. He  will  appeal  to  every  prejudice  that  can  help 
his  cause  ;  he  will  for  the  time  so  completely  identify 
himself  with  it  that  he  will  make  its  success  his  supreme 
and  all-absorbing  object  ;  and  he  will  hardly  fail  to  feel 
some  thrill  of  triumph  if  by  the  force  of  ingenious 
and  eloquent  pleading  he  has  saved  the  guilty  from  his 
punishment  or  snatched  a  verdict  in  defiance  of  evi- 
dence. 

It  is  not  surprising  that  a  profession  which  inevitably 
leads  to  such  things  should  have  excited  scruples  among 
many  good  men.  Swift  very  roughly  described  lawyers 
as  '  a  society  of  men  bred  from  their  youth  in  the  art 
of  proving  by  words,  multiplied  for  the  purpose,  that 
white  is  black  and  black  is  white,  according  as  they  are 
paid.'  Dr.  Arnold  has  more  than  once  expressed  his 
dislike,  and  indeed  abhorrence,  of  the  profession  of  an 
advocate.  It  inevitably,  he  maintained,  leads  to  moral 
perversion,  involving,  as  it  does,  the  indiscriminate  de- 


THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

fence  of  right  and  wrong,  and  in  many  cases  the  know- 
ing suppression  of  truth.  Macaulay,  who  can  hardly 
be  regarded  as  addicted  to  the  refinements  of  an  over- 
fastidious  morality,  reviewing  the  professional  rules 
that  are  recognised  in  England,  asks  '  whether  it  be 
right  that  not  merely  believing,  but  knowing  a  state- 
ment to  be  true,  he  should  do  all  that  can  be  done  by 
sophistry,  by  rhetoric,  by  solemn  asseveration,  by  in- 
dignant exclamation,  by  gesture,  by  play  of  features,  by 
terrifying  one  honest  witness,  by  perplexing  another,  to 
cause  a  jury  to  think  that  statement  false.'  Bentham 
denounced  in  even  stronger  language  the  habitual 
method  of  '  the  hireling  lawyer '  in  cross-examining  an 
honest  but  adverse  witness,  and  he  declared  that  there 
is  a  code  of  morality  current  in  Westminster  Hall  gene- 
rically  different  from  the  code  of  ordinary  life,  and 
directly  calculated  to  destroy  the  love  of  veracity  and 
justice.  On  the  other  hand,  Paley  recognised  among 
falsehoods  that  are  not  lies  because  they  deceive  no  one, 
the  statement  of  *  an  advocate  asserting  the  justice  or 
his  belief  of  the  justice  of  his  client's  cause.'  Dr. 
Johnson,  in  reply  to  some  objections  of  Boswell,  argues 
at  length,  but,  I  think,  with  some  sophistry,  in  favour 
of  the  profession.  '  You  are  not,'  he  says,  '  to  deceive 
your  client  with  false  representations  of  your  opinion. 
You  are  not  to  tell  lies  to  the  judge,  but  you  need  have 
no  scruple  about  taking  up  a  case  which  you  believe  to 
be  bad,  or  affecting  a  warmth  which  you  do  not  feel. 
You  do  not  know  your  cause  to  be  bad  till  the  judge 
determines  it.  ...  An  argument  which  does  not  con- 
vince yourself  may  convince  the  judge,  and,  if  it  does 
convince  him,  you  are  wrong  and  he  is  right.  .  .  . 


MORAL  POSITION  OF  AN  ADVOCATE 

Everybody  knows  you  are  paid  for  affecting  warmth 
for  your  client,  and  it  is  therefore  properly  no  dissimu- 
lation.' Basil  Montagu,  in  an  excellent  treatise  on 
the  subject,  urges  that  an  advocate  is  simply  an  officer 
assisting  in  the  administration  of  justice  under  the  im- 
pression that  truth  is  best  elicited,  and  that  difficulties 
are  most  effectually  disentangled,  by  the  opposite  state- 
ments of  able  men.  He  is  an  indispensable  part  of  a 
machine  which  in  its  net  result  is  acting  in  the  real 
interests  of  truth,  although  he  '  may  profess  feelings 
which  he  does  not  feel  and  may  support  a  cause  which 
he  knows  to  be  wrong,'  and  although  his  advocacy 
is  '  a  species  of  acting  without  an  avowal  that  it  is 
acting. ' 

It  is,  of  course,  possible  to  adopt  the  principles  of  the 
Quaker  and  to  condemn  as  unchristian  all  participation 
in  the  law  courts,  and  although  the  Catholic  Church 
has  never  adopted  this  extreme,  it  seems  to  have  in- 
stinctively recognised  some  incompatibility  between  the 
profession  of  an  advocate  and  the  saintly  character. 
Renan  notices  the  significant  fact  that  St.  Yves,  a  saint 
of  Brittany,  appears  to  be  the  only  advocate  who  has 
found  a  place  in  its  hagiology,  and  the  worshippers 
were  accustomed  to  sing  on  his  festival  '  Advocatus  et 
non  latro — Res  miranda  populo.'  It  is  indeed  evident 
that  a  good  deal  of  moral  compromise  must  enter  into 
this  field,  and  the  standards  of  right  and  wrong  that 
have  been  adopted  have  varied  greatly.  How  far,  for 
example,  may  a  lawyer  support  a  cause  which  he  be- 
lieves to  be  wrong  ?  In  some  ancient  legislations  ad- 
vocates were  compelled  to  swear  that  they  would  not 
defend  causes  which  they  thought  or  discovered  to  be 


112  THE  MAP  OF 

unjust.1  St.  Thomas  Aquinas  has  laid  down  in  em- 
phatic terms  that  any  lawyer  who  undertakes  the  de- 
fence of  an  unjust  cause  is  committing  a  grievous  sin. 
It  is  unlawful,  he  contends,  to  co-operate  with  any  one 
who  is  doing  wrong,  and  an  advocate  clearly  counsels 
and  assists  him  whose  cause  he  undertakes.  Modern 
Catholic  casuists  have  dealt  with  the  subject  in  the  same 
spirit.  They  admit,  indeed,  that  an  advocate  may  un- 
dertake the  defence  of  a  criminal  whom  he  knows  to  be 
guilty,  in  order  to  bring  to  light  all  extenuating  cir- 
cumstances, but  they  contend  that  no  advocate  should 
undertake  a  civil  cause  unless  by  a  previous  and  careful 
examination  he  has  convinced  himself  that  it  is  a  just 
one  ;  that  no  advocate  can  without  sin  undertake  a 
cause  which  he  knows  or  strongly  believes  to  be  unjust ; 
that  if  he  has  done  so  he  is  himself  bound  in  conscience 
to  make  restitution  to  the  party  that  has  been  injured 
by  his  advocacy  ;  that  if  in  the  course  of  a  trial  he  dis- 
covers that  a  cause  which  he  had  believed  to  be  just  is 
unjust  he  must  try  to  persuade  his  client  to  desist,  and 
if  he  fails  in  this  must  himself  abandon  the  cause, 
though  without  informing  the  opposite  party  of  the 
conclusion  at  which  he  had  arrived  ;  that  in  conduct- 
ing his  case  he  must  abstain  from  wounding  the  repu- 
tation of  his  neighbour  or  endeavouring  to  influence  the 
judges  by  bringing  before  them  misdeeds  of  his  oppo- 
nent which  are  not  connected  with  and  are  not  essential 
to  the  case.2  As  lately  as  1886  an  order  was  issued  from 
Rome,  with  the  express  approbation  of  the  Pope,  forbid- 


1  O'Brien,    The  Lawyer,  pp.    science.  Art.  'Avocat;'  Migne, 
169,  170.  Encyclopedic    Theologique,     i. 

.    '  Dictionnaire  de  Cos  de  Con-    serie,  tome  xviii. 


THE  ETHICS  OF  ADVOCACY 

ding  any  Catholic,  mayor  or  judge,  to  take  part  in  a 
divorce  case,  as  divorce  is  absolutely  condemned  by  the 
Church.1 

There  have  been,  and  perhaps  still  are,  instances  of 
lawyers  endeavouring  to  limit  their  practice  to  cases 
which  they  believed  to  be  just.  Sir  Matthew  Hale  is 
a  conspicuous  example,  but  he  acknowledged  that  he 
considerably  relaxed  his  rule  on  the  subject,  having 
found  in  two  instances  that  cases  which  at  the  first 
blush  seemed  very  worthless  were  in  truth  well  founded. 
As  a  general  rule  English  lawyers  make  no  discrimina- 
tion on  this  ground  in  accepting  briefs  unless  the  in- 
justice is  very  flagrant,  nor  will  they,  except  in  very 
extreme  cases,  do  their  client  the  great  injury  of  throw- 
ing up  a  brief  which  they  have  once  accepted.  They 
contend  that  by  acting  in  this  way  the  administration 
of  justice  in  the  long  run  is  best  served,  and  in  this 
fact  they  find  its  justification. 

In  the  conduct  of  a  case  there  are  rules  analogous  to 
those  which  distinguish  between  honourable  and  dishon- 
ourable war,  but  they  are  less  clearly  defined  and  less 
universally  accepted.  In  criminal  prosecutions  a  re- 
markable though  very  explicable  distinction  is  drawn 
between  the  prosecutor  and  the  defender.  It  is  the 
etiquette  of  the  profession  that  the  former  is  bound  to 
aim  only  at  truth,  neither  straining  any  point  against 
the  prisoner  nor  keeping  back  any  fact  which  is  favour- 
able to  him,  nor  using  any  argument  which  he  does  not 
himself  believe  to  be  just.  The  defender,  however,  is 
not  bound,  according  to  professional  etiquette,  by  such 


1  Revue  de  Droit  International,  xxi.  615. 
8 


THE  MAP  °F  LIFE 

rules.  He  may  use  arguments  which  he  knows  to  be 
bad,  conceal  or  shut  out  by  technical  objections  facts 
that  will  tell  against  his  clients,  and,  subject  to  some 
wide  and  vague  restrictions,  he  must  make  the  acquit- 
tal of  his  client  his  first  object.1 

Sometimes  cases  of  extreme  difficulty  arise.  Proba- 
bly the  best  known  is  the  case  of  Courvoisier,  the  Swiss 
valet,  who  murdered  Lord  William  Russell  in  1840.  In 
the  course  of  the  trial  Courvoisier  informed  his  advo- 
cate, Phillips,  that  he  was  guilty  of  the  murder,  but  at 
the  same  time  directed  Phillips  to  continue  to  defend 
him  to  the  last  extremity.  As  there  was  overwhelming 
evidence  that  the  murder  must  have  been  committed 
by  some  one  who  slept  in  the  house,  the  only  possible 
defence  was  that  an  equal  amount  of  suspicion  attached 
to  the  housemaid  and  cook  who  were  its  other  occu- 
pants. On  the  first  day  of  the  trial,  before  he  knew 
the  guilt  of  his  client  from  his  own  lips,  Phillips  had 
cross-examined  the  housemaid,  who  first  discovered  the 
murder,  with  great  severity  and  with  the  evident  object 
of  throwing  suspicion  upon  her.  What  course  ought 
he  now  to  pursue  ?  It  happened  that  an  eminent  judge 
was  sitting  on  the  bench  with  the  judge  who  was  to  try 
the  case,  and  Phillips  took  this  judge  into  his  confi- 
dence, stated  privately  to  him  the  facts  that  had  arisen, 
and  asked  for  his  advice.  The  judge  declared  that 
Phillips  was  bound  to  continue  to  defend  the  prisoner, 
whose  case  would  have  been  hopeless  if  his  own  counsel 
abandoned  him,  and  in  defending  him  he  was  bound 


1  See  Sir  James  Stephen's  General  View  of  the  Criminal  Late 
of  England,  pp.  167,  168. 


COURVOISIER'S  CASE  H5 

to  use  all  fair  arguments  arising  out  of  the  evidence. 
The  speech  of  Phillips  was  a  masterpiece  of  eloquence 
under  circumstances  of  extraordinary  difficulty.  Much 
of  it  was  devoted  to  impugning  the  veracity  of  the  wit- 
nesses for  the  prosecution.  He  solemnly  declared  that 
it  was  not  his  business  to  say  who  committed  the  mur- 
der, and  that  he  had  no  desire  to  throw  any  imputation 
on  the  other  servants  in  the  house,  and  he  abstained 
scrupulously  from  giving  any  personal  opinion  on  the 
matter  ;  but  the  drift  of  his  argument  was  that  Cour- 
voisier  was  the  victim  of  a  conspiracy,  the  police  having 
concealed  compromising  articles  among  his  clothes,  and 
that  there  was  no  clear  circumstance  distinguishing  the 
suspicion  against  him  from  that  against  the  other  ser- 
vants.1 

The  conduct  of  Phillips  in  this  case  has,  I  believe, 
been  justified  by  the  preponderance  of  professional  opin- 
ion, though  when  the  facts  were  known  public  opinion 
outside  the  profession  generally  condemned  it.  Some 
lawyers  have  pushed  the  duty  of  defence  to  a  point 
which  has  aroused  much  protest  even  in  their  own  pro- 
fession. '  The  Advocate,'  said  Lord  Brougham  in  his 
great  speech  before  the  House  of  Lords  in  defence  of 
Queen  Caroline,  '  by  the  sacred  duty  which  he  owes  his 


1  Phillips's  defence  of  his  own  C.   J.    Tindal,    who    tried   the 

conduct  will   be    found    in    a  case,  and  of  Baron  Parke,  who 

pamphlet    called     '  Correspon-  sat  on  the  bench.     C.  J.  Den- 

dence  of  S.  Warren  and  C.  Phil-  man  also  pronounced  Phillips's 

lips  relating  to  the  Courvoisier  speech  to  be  unexceptionable, 

trial.'     It  has  often  been  said  An  able  and  interesting  article 

that  Phillips  had  asserted  in  his  on  this  case  bv  Mr.  Atlay  will  be 

speech  his  full  belief  in  the  in-  found  in  the  Cornhill  Magazine, 

nocence  of  his  client,  but  this  is  May,  1897. 
disproved  by  the  statement  of 


THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

client,  knows  in  the  discharge  of  that  office  but  one 
person  in  the  world — that  client  and  none  other.  To 
save  that  client  by  all  expedient  means,  to  protect  that 
client  at  all  hazards  and  costs  to  all  others,  and  among 
others  to  himself,  is  the  highest  and  most  unquestioned 
of  his  duties ;  and  he  must  not  regard  the  alarm,  the 
suffering,  the  torment,  the  destruction  which  he  may 
bring  upon  any  other.  Nay,  separating  even  the  du- 
ties of  a  patriot  from  those  of  an  advocate,  and  casting 
them,  if  need  be,  to  the  wind,  he  must  go  on,  reckless 
of  consequences,  if  his  fate  it  should  unhappily  be  to 
involve  his  country  in  confusion  for  his  client's  protec- 
tion.' 

This  doctrine  has  been  emphatically  repudiated  by 
some  eminent  English  lawyers,  but  both  in  practice  and 
theory  the  profession  have  differed  widely  in  different 
courts,  times  and  countries.  How  far,  for  example,  is 
it  permissible  in  cross-examination  to  browbeat  or  con- 
fuse an  honest  but  timid  and  unskilful  witness  ;  to  at- 
tempt to  discredit  the  evidence  of  a  witness  on  a  plain 
matter  of  fact  about  which  he  had  no  interest  in  con- 
cealment by  exhuming  against  him  some  moral  scandal 
of  early  youth  which  was  totally  unconnected  with  the 
subject  of  the  trial ;  or,  by  pursuing  such  a  line  of  cross- 
examination,  to  keep  out  of  the  witness-box  material 
witnesses  who  are  conscious  that  their  past  lives  are  not 
beyond  reproach  ?  How  far  is  it  right  or  permissible 
to  press  legal  technicalities  as  opposed  to  substantial 
justice  ?  Probably  most  lawyers,  if  they  are  perfectly 
candid,  will  agree  that  these  things  are  in  some  mea- 
sure inevitable  in  their  profession,  and  that  the  real 
question  is  one  of  degree,  and  therefore  not  susceptible 


TECHNICALITIES  DEFEATING  JUSTICE  H7 

of  positive  definition.  There  is  a  kind  of  mind  that 
grows  so  enamoured  with,  the  subtleties  and  technicali- 
ties of  the  law  that  it  delights  in  the  unexpected  and 
unintended  results  to  which  they  may  lead.  I  have 
heard  an  English  judge  say  of  another  long  deceased 
that  he  had  through  this  feeling  a  positive  pleasure  in 
injustice,  and  one  lawyer,  not  of  this  country,  once  con- 
fessed to  me  the  amusement  he  derived  from  breaking 
the  convictions  of  criminals  in  his  state  by  discovering 
technical  flaws  in  their  indictments.  There  is  a  class 
of  mind  that  delights  in  such  cases  as  that  of  the  legal 
document  which  was  invalidated  because  the  letters  A.D. 
were  put  before  the  date  instead  of  the  formula  '  in  the 
year  of  Our  Lord,'  or  that  of  a  swindler  who  was  suf- 
fered to  escape  with  his  booty  because,  in  the  writ  that 
was  issued  for  his  arrest,  by  a  copyist's  error  the  word 
'  sheriff '  was  written  instead  of  '  sheriffs/  or  that  of  a 
lady  who  was  deprived  of  an  estate  of  £14,000  a  year 
because  by  a  mere  mistake  of  the  conveyancer  one  mate- 
rial word  was  omitted  from  the  will,  although  the  clear- 
est possible  evidence  was  offered  showing  the  wishes  of 
the  testator.1  Such  lawyers  argue  that  in  will  cases 
'  the  true  question  is  not  what  the  testator  intended  to 
do,  but  what  is  the  meaning  of  the  words  of  the  will,' 
and  that  the  balance  of  advantages  is  in  favour  of  a 
strict  adherence  to  the  construction  of  the  sentence  and 
the  technicalities  of  the  law,  even  though  in  particular 
cases  it  may  lead  to  grave  injustice. 

It  must  indeed  be  acknowledged  that  up  to  a  period 


1  See  these  cases  in  Warren's  Social  and  Professional  Duties 
of  an  Attorney,  pp.  128-133,  195,  196. 


118  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

extending  far  into  the  nineteenth  century  those  lawyers 
who  adopted  the  most  technical  view  of  their  profession 
were  acting  fully  in  accordance  with  its  spirit.  Few,  if 
any,  departments  of  English  legislation  and  administra- 
tion were  till  near  the  middle  of  this  century  so  scanda- 
lously bad  as  those  connected  with  the  administration 
of  the  civil  and  the  criminal  law,  and  especially  with 
the  Court  of  Chancery.  The  whole  field  was  covered 
with  a  network  of  obscure,  intricate,  archaic  technicali- 
ties ;  useless  except  for  the  purpose  of  piling  up  costs, 
procrastinating  decisions,  placing  the  simplest  legal  pro- 
cesses wholly  beyond  the  competence  of  any  but  trained 
experts,  giving  endless  facilities  for  fraud  and  for  the 
evasion  or  defeat  of  justice,  turning  a  law  case  into  a 
game  in  which  chance  and  skill  had  often  vastly  greater 
influence  than  substantial  merits.  Lord  Brougham  pro- 
bably in  no  degree  exaggerated  when  he  described  great 
portions  of  the  English  law  as  '  a  two-edged  sword  in 
the  hands  of  craft  and  of  oppression,'  and  a  great  au- 
thority on  chancery  law  declared  in  1839  that '  no  man, 
as  things  now  stand,  can  enter  into  a  chancery  suit 
with  any  reasonable  hope  of  being  alive  at  its  termina- 
tion if  he  has  a  determined  adversary.' 1 

The  moral  difficulties  of  administering  such  a  system 
were  very  great,  and  in  many  cases  English  juries,  in 
dealing  with  it,  adopted  a  rough  and  ready  code  of 
morals  of  their  own.  Though  they  had  sworn  to  de- 
cide every  case  according  to  the  law  as  it  was  stated  to 


1  See  the  admirable  article  by    Ward's  Reign  of  Queen  Victo- 
Lord  Justice  Bowen  on  '  The    ria,  vol.  i. 
Administration  of  the  Law '  in 


TECHNICALITIES  DEFEATING  JUSTICE  H9 

them,  and  according  to  the  evidence  that  was  laid  be- 
fore them,  they  frequently  refused  to  follow  legal  tech- 
nicalities which  would  lead  to  substantial  injustice,  and 
they  still  more  frequently  refused  to  bring  in  verdicts 
according  to  evidence  when  by  doing  so  they  would  con- 
sign a  prisoner  to  a  savage,  excessive,  or  unjust  punish^ 
ment.  Some  of  the  worst  abuses  of  the  English  law 
were  mitigated  by  the  perjuries  of  juries  who  refused 
to  put  them  in  force. 

The  great  legal  reforms  of  the  past  half -century  have 
removed  most  of  these  abuses,  and  have  at  the  same 
time  introduced  a  wider  and  juster  spirit  into  the  prac- 
tical administration  of  the  law.  Yet  even  now  differ- 
ent judges  sometimes  differ  widely  in  the  importance 
they  attach  to  substantial  justice  and  to  legal  techni- 
calities ;  and  even  now  one  of  the  advantages  of  trial 
by  jury  is  that  it  brings  the  masculine  common  sense 
and  the  unsophisticated  sense  of  justice  of  unprofes- 
sional men  into  fields  that  would  otherwise  be  often 
distorted  by  ingenious  subtleties.  It  is,  however,  far 
less  in  the  position  of  the  judge  than  in  the  position  of 
an  advocate  that  the  most  difficult  moral  questions  of 
the  legal  profession  arise.  The  difference  between  an 
unscrupulous  advocate  and  an  advocate  who  is  governed 
by  a  high  sense  of  honour  and  morality  is  very  manifest, 
but  at  best  there  must  be  many  things  in  the  profession 
from  which  a  very  sensitive  conscience  would  recoil,  and 
things  must  be  said  and  done  which  can  hardly  be  justi- 
fied except  on  the  ground  that  the  existence  of  this  pro- 
fession and  the  prescribed  methods  of  its  action  are  in 
the  long  run  indispensable  to  the  honest  administration 
of  justice. 


120  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

The  same  method  of  reasoning  applies  to  other  great 
departments  of  life.  In  politics  it  is  especially  needed. 
In  free  countries  party  government  is  the  best  if  not 
the  only  way  of  conducting  public  affairs,  but  it  is  im- 
possible to  conduct  it  without  a  large  amount  of  moral 
compromise  ;  without  a  frequent  surrender  of  private 
judgment  and  will.  A  good  man  will  choose  his  party 
through  disinterested  motives,  and  with  a  firm  and 
honest  conviction  that  it  represents  the  cast  of  policy 
most  beneficial  to  the  country.  He  will  on  grave  occa- 
sions assert  his  independence  of  party,  but  in  the  large 
majority  of  cases  he  must  act  with  his  party  even  if 
they  are  pursuing  courses  in  some  degree  contrary  to 
his  own  judgment. 

Every  one  who  is  actively  engaged  in  politics — every 
one  especially  who  is  a  member  of  the  House  of  Com- 
mons— must  soon  learn  that  if  the  absolute  indepen- 
dence of  individual  judgment  were  pushed  to  its  ex- 
treme, political  anarchy  would  ensue.  The  complete 
concurrence  of  a  large  number  of  independent  judg- 
ments in  a  complicated  measure  is  impossible.  If  party 
government  is  to  be  carried  on,  there  must  be,  both  in 
the  Cabinet  and  in  Parliament,  perpetual  compromise. 
The  first  condition  of  its  success  is  that  the  Government 
should  have  a  stable,  permanent,  disciplined  support 
behind  it,  and  in  order  that  this  should  be  attained  the 
individual  member  must  in  most  cases  vote  with  his 
party.  Sometimes  he  must  support  a  measure  which 
he  knows  to  be  bad,  because  its  rejection  would  involve 
a  change  of  government  which  he  believes  would  be  a 
still  greater  evil  than  its  acceptance,  and  in  order  to 
prevent  this  evil  he  may  have  to  vote  a  direct  negative 


THE  ETHICS  OF  PARTY 

to  Borne  resolution  containing  a  statement  which  he  be- 
lieves to  be  true.  At  the  same  time,  if  he  is  an  honest 
man,  he  will  not  be  a  mere  slave  of  party.  Sometimes 
a  question  arises  which  he  considers  so  supremely  im- 
portant that  he  will  break  away  from  his  party  and  en- 
deavour at  all  hazards  to  carry  or  to  defeat  it.  Much 
more  frequently  he  will  either  abstain  from  voting,  or 
will  vote  against  the  Government  on  a  particular  ques- 
tion, but  only  when  he  knows  that  by  taking  this  course 
he  is  simply  making  a  protest  which  will  produce  no 
serious  political  complication.  On  most  great  measures 
there  is  a  dissentient  minority  in  the  Government  party, 
and  it  often  exercises  a  most  useful  influence  in  repre- 
senting independent  opinion,  and  bringing  into  the 
measure  modifications  and  compromises  which  allay 
opposition,  gratify  minorities,  and  soften  differences. 
But  the  action  of  that  party  will  be  governed  by  many 
motives  other  than  a  simple  consideration  of  the  merits 
of  the  case.  It  is  not  sufficient  to  say  that  they  must 
vote  for  every  resolution  which  they  believe  to  be  true, 
for  every  bill  or  clause  of  a  bill  which  they  believe  to 
be  right,  and  must  vote  against  every  bill  or  clause  or 
resolution  about  which  they  form  an  opposite  judgment. 
Sometimes  they  will  try  in  private  to  prevent  the  intro- 
duction of  a  measure,  but  when  it  is  introduced  they 
will  feel  it  their  duty  either  positively  to  support  it  or 
at  least  to  abstain  from  protesting  against  it.  Some- 
times they  will  either  vote  against  it  or  abstain  from 
voting  at  all,  but  only  when  the  majority  is  so  large 
that  it  is  sure  to  be  carried.  Sometimes  their  conduct 
will  be  the  result  of  a  bargain — they  will  vote  for  one 
portion  of  a  bill  of  which  they  disapprove  because  they 


122  THE  MAP  OF 

have  obtained  from  the  Government  a  concession  on 
another  which  they  think  more  important.  The  na- 
ture of  their  opposition  will  depend  largely  upon  the 
strength  or  weakness  of  the  Government,  upon  the  size 
of  the  majority,  upon  the  degree  in  which  a  change  of 
ministry  would  affect  the  general  policy  of  the  country, 
upon  the  probability  of  the  measure  they  object  to  being 
finally  extinguished,  or  returning  in  another  year  either 
in  an  improved  or  in  a  more  dangerous  form.  Ques- 
tions of  proportion  and  degree  and  ulterior  consequences 
will  continually  sway  them.  Measures  are  often  op- 
posed, not  on  their  own  intrinsic  merits,  but  on  account 
of  precedents  they  might  establish  ;  of  other  measures 
which  might  grow  out  of  them  or  be  justified  by  them. 
Not  unfrequently  it  happens  that  a  section  of  the 
dominant  party  is  profoundly  discontented  with  the 
policy  of  the  Government  on  some  question  which  they 
deem  of  great  importance.  They  find  themselves  in- 
capable of  offering  any  direct  and  successful  opposition, 
but  their  discontent  will  show  itself  on  some  other 
Government  measure  on  which  votes  are  more  evenly 
divided.  Possibly  they  may  oppose  that  measure.  More 
probably  they  will  fail  to  attend  regularly  at  the  divi- 
sions, or  will  exercise  their  independent  judgments  on 
its  clauses  in  a  manner  they  would  not  have  done  if 
their  party  allegiance  had  been  unshaken.  And  this 
conduct  is  not  mere  revenge.  It  is  a  method  of  put- 
ting pressure  on  the  Government  in  order  to  obtain 
concessions  on  matters  which  they  deem  of  paramount 
importance.  In  the  same  way  they  will  seek  to  gain 
supporters  by  political  alliances.  Few  things  in  parlia- 
mentary government  are  more  dangerous  or  more  apt  to 


OBSTRUCTION  IN  PARLIAMENT  123 

lead  to  corruption  than  the  bargains  which  the  Ameri- 
cans call  log-rolling  ;  but  it  is  inevitable  that  a  member 
who  has  received  from  a  colleague,  or  perhaps  from  an 
opponent,  assistance  on  a  question  which  he  believes  to 
be  of  the  highest  importance,  will  be  disposed  to  return 
that  assistance  in  some  case  in  which  his  own  feelings 
and  opinions  are  not  strongly  enlisted. 

Then,  too,  we  have  to  consider  the  great  place  which 
obstruction  plays  in  parliamentary  government.  It 
constantly  happens  that  a  measure  to  which  scarcely 
any  one  objects  is  debated  at  inordinate  length  for  no 
other  reason  than  to  prevent  a  measure  which  is  much 
objected  to  from  being  discussed.  Measures  may  be 
opposed  by  hostile  votes,  but  they  are  often  much  more 
efficaciously  opposed  by  calculated  delays,  by  multiplied 
amendments  or  speeches,  by  some  of  the  many  devices 
that  can  be  employed  to  clog  the  legislative  machine. 
There  are  large  classes  of  measures  on  which  govern- 
ments or  parliaments  think  it  desirable  to  give  no  opin- 
ion, or  at  least  no  immediate  opinion,  though  they  can- 
not prevent  their  introduction,  and  many  methods  are 
employed  with  the  real,  though  not  avowed  and  osten- 
sible object  of  preventing  a  vote  or  even  a  ministerial 
declaration  upon  them.  Sometimes  Parliament  is  quite 
ready  to  acknowledge  the  abstract  justice  of  a  proposal, 
but  does  not  think  it  ripe  for  legislation.  In  such  cases 
the  second  reading  of  the  bill  will  probably  be  accepted, 
but,  to  the  indignation  and  astonishment  of  its  support- 
ers outside  the  House,  it  will  be  obstructed,  delayed  or 
defeated  in  committee  with  the  acquiescence,  or  con- 
nivance, or  even  actual  assistance  of  some  of  those  who 
had  voted  for  it.  Some  measures  in  the  eyes  of  some 


124  THE  MAP  OF  LIrE 

members  involve  questions  of  principle  so  sacred  that 
they  will  admit  of  no  compromise  of  expediency,  but 
most  measures  are  deemed  open  to  compromise  and  are 
accepted,  rejected,  or  modified  under  some  of  the  many 
motives  I  have  described. 

All  this  curious  and  indispensable  mechanism  of  party 
government  is  compatible  with  a  high  and  genuine  sense 
of  public  duty,  and  unless  such  a  sense  at  the  last  resort 
dominates  over  all  other  considerations,  political  life 
will  inevitably  decline.  At  the  same  time  it  is  obvious 
that  many  things  have  to  be  done  from  which  a  very 
rigid  and  austere  nature  would  recoil.  To  support  a 
Government  when  he  believes  it  to  be  wrong,  or  to  op- 
pose a  measure  which  he  believes  to  be  right ;  to  connive 
at  evasions  which  are  mere  pretexts,  and  at  delays  which 
rest  upon  grounds  that  are  not  openly  avowed, — is  some- 
times, and  indeed  not  unfrequently,  a  parliamentary 
duty.  A  member  of  Parliament  must  often  feel  him- 
self in  the  position  of  a  private  in  an  army,  or  a  player 
in  a  game,  or  an  advocate  in  a  law  case.  On  many 
questions  each  party  represents  and  defends  the  special 
interests  of  some  particular  classes  in  the  country. 
When  there  are  two  plausible  alternative  courses  to  be 
pursued  which  divide  public  opinion,  the  Opposition  is 
almost  bound  by  its  position  to  enforce  the  merits  of 
the  course  opposed  to  that  adopted  by  the  Government. 
In  theory  nothing  could  seem  more  absurd  than  a  sys- 
tem of  government  in  which,  as  it  has  been  said,  the 
ablest  men  in  Parliament  are  divided  into  two  classes, 
one  side  being  charged  with  the  duty  of  carrying  on 
the  government  and  the  other  with  that  of  obstructing 
and  opposing  them  in  their  task,  and  in  which,  on  a  vast 


RELATIONS  OF  THE  FRONT  BENCHES     125 

multitude  of  unconnected  questions,  these  two  great 
bodies  of  very  competent  men,  with  the  same  facts  and 
arguments  before  them,  habitually  go  into  opposite  lob- 
bies. In  practice,  however,  parliamentary  government 
by  great  parties,  in  countries  where  it  is  fully  under- 
stood and  practised,  is  found  to  be  admirably  efficacious 
in  representing  every  variety  of  political  opinion  ;  in 
securing  a  constant  supervision  and  criticism  of  men 
and  measures  ;  and  in  forming  a  safety  valve  through 
which  the  dangerous  humours  of  society  can  expand 
without  evil  to  the  community. 

This,  however,  is  only  accomplished  by  constant  com- 
promises which  are  seldom  successfully  carried  out  with- 
out a  long  national  experience.  Party  must  exist.  It 
must  be  maintained  as  an  essential  condition  of  good 
government,  but  it  must  be  subordinated  to  the  public 
interests,  and  in  the  public  interests  it  must  be  in  many 
cases  suspended.  There  are  subjects  which  cannot  be 
introduced  without  the  gravest  danger  into  the  arena 
of  party  controversy.  Indian  politics  are  a  conspicuous 
example,  and,  although  foreign  policy  cannot  be  kept 
wholly  outside  it,  the  dangers  connected  with  its  party 
treatment  are  extremely  great.  Many  measures  of  a 
different  kind  are  conducted  with  the  concurrence  of 
the  two  front  benches.  A  cordial  union  on  large  classes 
of  questions  between  the  heads  of  the  rival  parties  is 
one  of  the  first  conditions  of  successful  parliamentary 
government.  The  Opposition  leader  must  have  a  voice 
in  the  conduct  of  business,  on  the  questions  that  should 
be  brought  forward,  and  on  the  questions  that  it  is  for 
the  public  interest  to  keep  back.  He  is  the  official 
leader  of  systematic,  organised  opposition  to  the  Govern- 


126  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

ment,  yet  he  is  on  a  large  number  of  questions  their 
most  powerful  ally.  He  must  frequently  have  confi- 
dential relations  with  them,  and  one  of  his  most  useful 
functions  is  to  prevent  sections  of  his  party  from  en- 
deavouring to  snatch  party  advantages  by  courses  which 
might  endanger  public  interests.  If  the  country  is  to 
be  well  governed  there  must  be  a  large  amount  of  con- 
tinuity in  its  policy  ;  certain  conditions  and  principles 
of  administration  must  be  inflexibly  maintained,  and  in 
great  national  emergencies  all  parties  must  unite. 

In  questions  which  lie  at  the  heart  of  party  politics, 
also  some  amount  of  compromise  is  usually  effected. 
Debate  not  only  elicits  opinions  but  also  suggests  alter- 
natives and  compromises,  and  very  few  measures  are 
carried  by  a  majority  which  do  not  bear  clear  traces  of 
the  action  of  the  minority.  The  line  is  constantly  de- 
flected now  on  one  side  and  now  on  the  other,  and 
(usually  without  much  regard  to  logical  consistency) 
various  and  opposing  sentiments  are  in  some  measure 
gratified.  If  the  lines  of  party  are  drawn  with  an  in- 
flexible rigidity  ;  and  if  the  majority  insist  on  the  full 
exercise  of  their  powers,  parliamentary  government  may 
become  a  despotism  as  crushing  as  the  worst  autocracy 
— a  despotism  which  is  perhaps  even  more  dangerous 
as  the  sense  of  responsibility  is  diminished  by  being 
divided.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  the  latitude  conceded 
to  individual  opinion  is  excessive,  Parliament  inevitably 
breaks  into  groups,  and  parliamentary  government  loses 
much  of  its  virtue.  When  coalitions  of  minorities  can 
at  any  time  overthrow  a  ministry,  the  whole  force  of 
Government  is  lost.  The  temptation  to  corrupt  bar- 
gains with  particular  sections  is  enormously  increased, 


THE  MEMBER  AND  HIS  CONSTITUENTS  J27 

and  the  declining  control  of  the  two  front  benches  will 
be  speedily  followed  by  a  diminished  sense  of  responsi- 
bility, and  by  the  increased  influence  of  violent,  eccen- 
tric, exaggerated  opinions.  It  is  of  the  utmost  moment 
that  the  policy  of  an  Opposition  should  be  guided  by  its 
most  important  men,  and  especially  by  men  who  have 
had  the  experience  and  the  responsibility  of  office,  and 
who  know  that  they  may  have  that  responsibility  again. 
But  the  healthy  latitude  of  individual  opinion  and  ex- 
pression in  a  party  is  like  most  of  those  things  we  are 
now  considering,  a  question  of  degree,  and  not  suscepti- 
ble of  clear  and  sharp  definition. 

Other  questions  of  a  somewhat  different  nature,  but 
involving  grave  moral  considerations,  arise  out  of  the 
relations  between  a  member  and  his  constituents.  In 
the  days  when  small  boroughs  were  openly  bought  in 
the  market,  this  was  sometimes  defended  on  the  ground 
of  the  complete  independence  of  judgment  which  it 
gave  to  the  purchasing  member.  Eomilly  and  Henry 
Flood  are  said  to  have  both  purchased  their  seats  with 
the  express  object  of  securing  such  independence.  In 
the  political  philosophy  of  Burke,  no  doctrine  is  more 
emphatically  enforced  than  that  a  member  of  Parlia- 
ment is  a  representative  but  not  a  delegate  ;  that  he 
owes  to  his  constituents  not  only  his  time  and  his  ser- 
vices, but  also  the  exercise  of  his  independent  and  un- 
fettered judgment ;  that,  while  reflecting  the  general 
cast  of  their  politics,  he  must  never  suffer  himself  to  be 
reduced  to  a  mere  mouthpiece,  or  accept  binding  in- 
structions prescribing  on  each  particular  measure  the 
course  he  may  pursue  ;  that  after  his  election  he  must 
consider  himself  a  member  of  an  Imperial  Parliament 


128  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

rather  than  the  representative  of  a  particular  locality, 
and  must  subordinate  local  and  special  interests  to  the 
wider  and  more  general  interests  of  the  whole  nation. 

The  conditions  of  modern  political  life  have  greatly 
narrowed  this  liberty  of  judgment.  In  most  constitu- 
encies a  member  can  only  enter  Parliament  fettered  by 
many  pledges  relating  to  specific  measures,  and  in  every 
turn  of  policy  sections  of  his  constituents  will  attempt 
to  dictate  his  course  of  action.  Certain  large  and  gene- 
ral pledges  naturally  and  properly  precede  his  election. 
He  is  chosen  as  a  supporter  or  opponent  of  the  Govern- 
ment ;  he  avows  himself  an  adherent  of  certain  broad 
lines  of  policy,  and  he  also  represents  in  a  special  degree 
the  interests  and  the  distinctive  type  of  opinion  of  the 
class  or  industry  which  is  dominant  in  his  constituency. 
But  even  at  the  time  of  election  he  often  finds  that  on 
some  particular  question  in  which  his  electors  are  much 
interested  he  differs  from  them,  though  they  consent, 
in  spite  of  it,  to  elect  him  ;  and,  in  the  course  of  a  long 
Parliament,  others  are  very  apt  unexpectedly  to  arise. 
Political  changes  take  place  which  bring  into  the  fore- 
ground matters  which  at  the  time  of  the  election  seemed 
very  remote,  or  produce  new  questions,  or  give  rise  to 
unforeseen  party  combinations,  developments,  and  ten- 
dencies. It  will  often  happen  that  on  these  occasions 
a  member  will  think  differently  from  the  majority  of 
his  electors,  and  he  must  meet  the  question  how  far  he 
must  sacrifice  his  judgment  to  theirs,  and  how  far  he 
may  use  the  influence  which  their  votes  have  given  him 
to  act  in  opposition  to  their  wishes  and  perhaps  even  to 
their  interests.  Burke,  for  example,  found  himself  in 
this  position  when,  being  member  for  Bristol,  he  con- 


THE  MEMBER  AND  HIS  CONSTITUENTS  129 

sidered  it  his  duty  to  support  the  concession  of  Free- 
trade  to  Ireland,  although  his  constituents  had,  or 
thought  they  had,  a  strong  interest  in  commercial 
restrictions  and  monopoly.  In  our  own  day  it  has 
happened  that  members  representing  manufacturing 
districts  of  Lancashire  have  found  themselves  unex- 
pectedly called  upon  to  vote  upon  some  measure  for 
crippling  or  extending  rival  manufactures  in  India  ; 
for  opening  new  markets  by  some  very  dubious  aggres- 
sion in  a  distant  land  ;  or  for  limiting  the  child  labour 
employed  in  the  local  manufacture  ;  and  these  members 
have  often  believed  that  the  right  course  was  a  course 
which  was  exceedingly  repugnant  to  great  sections  of 
their  electors. 

Sometimes,  too,  a  member  is  elected  on  purely  secu- 
lar issues,  but  in  the  course  of  the  Parliament  one  of 
those  fierce,  sudden  storms  of  religious  sentiment,  to 
which  England  is  occasionally  liable,  sweeps  over  the 
land,  and  he  finds  himself  wholly  out  of  sympathy  with 
a  great  portion  of  his  constituency.  In  other  cases  the 
party  which  he  entered  Parliament  to  support,  pursues, 
on  some  grave  question,  a  line  of  policy  which  he  be- 
lieves to  be  seriously  wrong,  and  he  goes  into  partial  or 
even  complete  and  bitter  opposition.  Differences  of 
this  kind  have  frequently  arisen  when  there  is  no  ques- 
tion of  any  interested  motive  having  influenced  the 
member.  Sometimes  in  such  cases  he  has  resigned  his 
seat  and  gone  to  his  electors  for  re-election.  In  other 
cases  he  remains  in  Parliament  till  the  next  election. 
Each  case,  however,  must  be  left  to  individual  judg- 
ment, and  no  clear,  definite,  unwavering  moral  line  can 
be  drawn.  The  member  will  consider  the  magnitude 
9 


130  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

of  the  disputed  question,  both  in  his  own  eyes  and  in 
the  eyes  of  those  whom  he  represents  ;  its  permanent 
or  transitory  character,  the  amount  and  importance  of 
the  majority  opposed  to  his  views,  the  length  of  time 
that  is  likely  to  elapse  before  a  dissolution  will  bring 
him  face  to  face  with  his  constituents.  In  matters 
which  he  does  not  consider  very  urgent  or  important, 
he  will  probably  sacrifice  his  own  judgment  to  that  of 
his  electors,  at  least  so  far  as  to  abstain  from  voting  or 
from  pressing  his  own  views.  In  graver  matters  it  is 
his  duty  boldly  to  face  unpopularity,  or  perhaps  even 
take  the  extreme  step  of  resigning  his  seat. 

The  cases  in  which  a  member  of  Parliament  finds  it 
his  duty  to  support  a  measure  which  he  believes  to  be 
positively  bad,  on  the  ground  that  greater  evils  would 
follow  its  rejection,  are  happily  not  very  numerous. 
He  can  extricate  himself  from  many  moral  difficulties 
by  sometimes  abstaining  from  voting  or  from  the  ex- 
pression of  his  real  opinions,  and  most  measures  are  of 
a  composite  character  in  which  good  and  evil  elements 
combine,  and  may  in  some  degree  be  separated.  In 
such  measures  it  is  often  possible  to  accept  the  general 
principle  while  opposing  particular  details,  and  there  is 
considerable  scope  for  compromise  and  modification. 
But  the  cases  in  which  a  member  of  Parliament  is  com- 
pelled to  vote  for  measures  about  which  he  has  no  real 
knowledge  or  conviction  are  very  many.  Crowds  of 
measures  of  a  highly  complex  and  technical  character, 
affecting  departments  of  life  with  which  he  has  had  no 
experience,  relating  to  the  multitudinous  industries, 
interests  and  conditions  of  a  great  people,  are  brought 
before  him  at  very  short  notice  ;  and  no  intellect,  how- 


CHARACTER  OF  PARTY  VOTES 

ever  powerful,  no  industry,  however  great,  can  master 
them.  It  is  utterly  impossible  that  mere  extemporised 
knowledge,  the  listening  to  a  short  debate,  the  brief 
study  which  a  member  of  Parliament  can  give  to  a  new 
subject,  can  place  him  on  a  real  level  of  competence 
with  those  who  can  bring  to  it  a  life-long  knowledge  or 
experience. 

A  member  of  Parliament  will  soon  find  that  he  must 
select  a  class  of  subjects  which  he  can  himself  master, 
while  on  many  others  he  must  vote  blindly  with  his 
party.  The  two  or  three  capital  measures  in  a  session 
are  debated  with  such  a  fulness  that  both  the  House 
and  the  country  become  thoroughly  competent  to  judge 
them,  and  in  those  cases  the  preponderance  of  argu- 
ment will  have  great  weight.  A  powerful  ministry  and 
a  strongly  organised  party  may  carry  such  a  measure  in 
spite  of  it,  but  they  will  be  obliged  to  accept  amend- 
ments and  modifications,  and  if  they  persist  in  their 
policy  their  position  both  in  the  House  and  in  the  coun- 
try will  sooner  or  later  be  inevitably  changed.  But  a 
large  number  of  measures  have  a  more  restricted  inter- 
est, and  are  far  less  widely  understood.  The  House  of 
Commons  is  rich  in  expert  knowledge,  and  few  subjects 
are  brought  before  it  which  some  of  its  members  do  not 
thoroughly  understand  ;  but  in  a  vast  number  of  cases 
the  majority  who  decide  the  question  are  obliged  to  do 
so  on  the  most  superficial  knowledge.  Very  often  it  is 
physically  impossible  for  a  member  to  obtain  the  know- 
ledge he  requires.  The  most  important  and  detailed  in- 
vestigation has  taken  place  in  a  committee  upstairs  to 
which  he  did  not  belong,  or  he  is  detained  elsewhere 
on  important  parliamentary  business  while  the  debate 


132  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

is  going  on.  Even  when  this  is  not  the  case,  scarcely 
any  one  has  the  physical  or  mental  power  which  would 
enable  him  to  sit  intelligently  through  all  the  debates. 
Every  member  of  Parliament  is  familiar  with  the  scene, 
when,  after  a  debate,  carried  on  before  nearly  empty 
benches,  the  division  bell  rings,  and  the  members  stream 
in  to  decide  the  issue.  There  is  a  moment  of  uncer- 
tainty. The  questions  '  Which  side  are  we  ?  '  '  What 
is  it  about  ?  '  may  be  heard  again  and  again.  Then  the 
Speaker  rises,  and  with  one  magical  sentence  clears  the 
situation.  It  is  the  sentence  in  which  he  announces 
that  the  tellers  for  the  Ayes  or  Noes,  as  the  case  may 
be,  are  the  Government  whips.  It  is  not  argument,  it 
is  not  eloquence,  it  is  this  single  sentence  which  in 
countless  cases  determines  the  result  and  moulds  the 
legislation  of  the  country.  Many  members,  it  is  true, 
are  not  present  in  the  division  lobby,  but  they  are 
usually  paired — that  is  to  say,  they  hare  taken  their 
sides  before  the  discussion  began  ;  perhaps  without  even 
knowing  what  subject  is  to  be  discussed,  perhaps  for  all 
the  many  foreseen  and  unforeseen  questions  that  may 
arise  during  long  periods  of  the  session. 

It  is  a  strange  process,  and  to  a  new  member  who  has 
been  endeavouring  through  his  life  to  weigh  arguments 
and  evidence  with  scrupulous  care,  and  treat  the  forma- 
tion and  expression  of  opinions  as  a  matter  of  serious 
duty,  it  is  at  first  very  painful.  He  finds  that  he  is  re- 
quired again  and  again  to  give  an  effective  voice  in  the 
great  council  of  the  nation,  on  questions  of  grave  im- 
portance, with  a  levity  of  conviction  upon  which  he 
would  not  act  in  the  most  trivial  affairs  of  private  life. 
No  doctor  would  prescribe  for  the  slightest  malady  ;  no 


GROWING    POWER   OF    THE   CABINET  133 

lawyer  would  advise  in  the  easiest  case  ;  no  wise  man 
would  act  in  the  simplest  transactions  of  private  busi- 
ness, or  would  even  give  an  opinion  to  his  neighbour  at 
a  dinner  party  without  more  knowledge  of  the  subject 
than  that  on  which  a  member  of  Parliament  is  often 
obliged  to  vote.  But  he  soon  finds  that  for  good  or  evil 
this  system  is  absolutely  indispensable  to  the  working 
of  the  machine.  If  no  one  voted  except  on  matters  he 
really  understood  and  cared  for,  four-fifths  of  the  ques- 
tions that  are  determined  by  the  House  of  Commons 
would  be  determined  by  mere  fractions  of  its  members, 
and  in  that  case  parliamentary  government  under  the 
party  system  would  be  impossible.  The  stable,  disci- 
plined majorities  without  which  it  can  never  be  effi- 
ciently conducted  would  be  at  an  end.  Those  who 
refuse  to  accept  the  conditions  of  parliamentary  life 
should  abstain  from  entering  into  it. 

It  is  obvious  that  the  one  justification  of  this  system 
is  to  be  found  in  the  belief  that  parliamentary  govern- 
ment, as  it  is  worked  in  England,  is  on  the  whole  a 
good  thing,  and  that  this  is  the  indispensable  condi- 
tion of  its  existence.  Probably  also  with  most  men  it 
strengthens  the  disposition  to  support  the  Government 
on  matters  which  they  do  not  understand  and  in  which 
grave  party  issues  are  not  involved.  They  know  that 
these  minor  questions  have  at  least  been  carefully  ex- 
amined on  their  merits  by  responsible  men,  and  with 
the  assistance  of  the  best  available  expert  knowledge. 

This  fact  goes  far  to  reconcile  us  to  the  tendency  to 
give  governments  an  almost  complete  monopoly  in  the 
initiation  of  legislation  which  is  so  evident  in  modern 
parliamentary  life.  Much  useful  legislation  in  the  past 


134  THE  MAP  ° 

has  been  due  to  private  and  independent  members,  but 
the  chance  of  bills  introduced  by  such  members  ever 
becoming  law  is  sieadily  diminishing.  This  is  not  due 
to  any  recognised  constitutional  change,  but  to  the  con- 
stantly increasing  pressure  of  government  business  on 
the  time  of  the  House,  and  especially  to  what  is  called 
the  twelve  o'clock  rule,  terminating  debates  at  mid- 
night. 

It  is  a  rule  which  is  manifestly  wise,  for  it  limits  on 
ordinary  occasions  the  hours  of  parliamentary  work  to  a 
period  within  the  strength  of  ail  average  man.  Parlia- 
mentary government  has  many  dubious  aspects,  but  it 
never  appears  worse  than  in  the  cases  which  may  still 
sometimes  be  seen  when  a  Government  thinks  fit  to  force 
through  an  important  measure  by  all-night  sittings,  and 
when  a  weary  and  irritated  House  which  has  been  sit- 
ting since  three  or  four  in  the  afternoon  is  called  upon 
at  a  corresponding  hour  of  the  early  morning  to  pro- 
nounce upon  grave  and  difficult  questions  of  principle, 
and  to  deal  with  the  serious  interests  of  large  classes. 
The  utter  and  most  natural  incapacity  of  the  House  at 
such  an  hour  for  sustained  argument ;  its  anxiety  that 
each  successive  amendment  should  be  despatched  in 
five  minutes  ;  the  readiness  with  which  in  that  tired, 
feverish  atmosphere,  surprises  and  coalitions  may  be 
effected  and  solutions  accepted,  to  which  the  House  in 
its  normal  state  would  scarcely  have  listened,  must  be 
evident  to  every  observer.  Scenes  of  this  kind  are 
among  the  greatest  scandals  of  Parliament,  and  the 
rule  which  makes  them  impossible  except  in  the  clos- 
ing weeks  of  the  Session  has  been  one  of  the  greatest 
improvements  in  modern  parliamentary  work.  But  its 


THE   TWELVE    O'CLOCK   RULE  135 

drawback  is  that  it  has  greatly  limited  the  possibility 
of  private  member  legislation.  It  is  in  late  and  rapid 
sittings  that  most  measures  of  this  kind  passed  through 
their  final  stages,  and  since  the  twelve  o'clock  rule  has 
been  adopted  a  much  smaller  number  of  bills  intro- 
duced by  private  members  find  their  way  to  the  statute 
book. 


136  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 


CHAPTER  X 

IT  is  obvious  from  the  considerations  that  have  been 
adduced  in  the  last  chapter  that  the  moral  limitations 
and  conditions  under  which  an  ordinary  member  of 
Parliament  is  compelled  to  work  are  far  from  ideal. 
An  upright  man  will  try  conscientiously,  under  these 
conditions,  to  do  his  best  for  the  cause  of  honesty  and 
for  the  benefit  of  his  country,  but  he  cannot  essentially 
alter  them,  and  they  present  many  temptations  and 
tend  in  many  ways  to  blur  the  outlines  separating  good 
from  evil.  He  will  find  himself  practically  pledged  to 
support  his  party  in  measures  which  he  has  never  seen 
and  in  policies  that  are  not  yet  developed  ;  to  vote  in 
some  cases  contrary  to  his  genuine  belief  and  in  many 
casea  without  real  knowledge  ;  to  act  throughout  his 
political  career  on  many  motives  other  than  a  reasoned 
conviction  of  the  substantial  merits  of  the  question  at 
issue. 

I  have  dwelt  on  the  difficult  questions  which  arise 
when  the  wishes  of  his  constituents  are  at  variance  with 
his  own  genuine  opinions.  Another  and  a  wider  ques- 
tion is  how  far  he  is  bound  to  make  what  he  considers 
the  interests  of  the  nation  his  guiding  light,  and  how 
far  he  should  subordinate  what  he  believes  to  be  their 
interests  to  their  prejudices  and  wishes.  One  of  the 
first  lessons  that  every  active  politician  has  to  learn  is 
that  he  is  a  trustee  bound  to  act  for  men  whose  opin- 


TRUSTEESHIP   IN    POLITICS  137 

ions,  aims,  desires  and  ideals  are  often  very  different 
from  his  own.  No  man  who  holds  the  position  of 
member  of  Parliament  should  divest  himself  of  this 
consideration,  though  it  applies  to  different  classes  of 
members  in  different  degrees.  A  private  member  should 
not  forget  it,  but  at  the  same  time,  being  elected  pri- 
marily and  specially  to  represent  one  particular  element 
in  the  national  life,  he  will  concentrate  his  attention 
more  exclusively  on  a  narrow  circle,  though  he  has  at 
the  same  time  more  latitude  of  expressing  unpopular 
opinions  and  pushing  unripe  and  unpopular  causes  than 
a  member  who  is  taking  a  large  and  official  part  in  the 
government  of  the  nation.  The  opposition  front  bench 
occupies  a  somewhat  different  position.  They  are  the 
special  and  organised  representatives  of  a  particular 
party  and  its  ideas,  but  the  fact  that  they  may  be  called 
upon  at  any  time  to  undertake  the  government  of  the 
nation  as  a  whole,  and  that  even  while  in  opposition 
they  take  a  great  part  in  moulding  its  general  policy, 
imposes  on  them  limitations  and  restrictions  from  which 
a  mere  private  member  is  in  a  great  degree  exempt. 
When  a  party  comes  into  power  its  position  is  again 
slightly  altered.  Its  leaders  are  certainly  not  detached 
from  the  party  policy  they  had  advocated  in  opposition. 
One  of  the  main  objects  of  party  is  to  incorporate  cer- 
tain political  opinions  and  the  interests  of  certain  sec- 
tions of  the  community  in  an  organised  body  which  will 
be  a  steady  and  permanent  force  in  politics.  It  is  by 
this  means  that  political  opinions  are  most  likely  to 
triumph  ;  that  class  interests  are  most  effectually  pro- 
tected. But  a  Government  cannot  govern  merely  in 
the  interests  of  a  party.  It  is  a  trustee  for  the  whole 


138  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

nation,  and  one  of  its  first  duties  is  to  ascertain  and 
respect  as  far  as  possible  the  wishes  as  well  as  the  inter- 
ests of  all  sections. 

Concrete  examples  may  perhaps  show  more  clearly 
than  abstract  statements  the  kind  of  difficulties  that  I 
am  describing.  Take,  for  example,  the  large  class  of 
proposals  for  limiting  the  sale  of  strong  drink  by  such 
methods  as  local  veto  or  Sunday  closing  of  public- 
houses.  One  class  of  politicians  take  up  the  position  of 
uncompromising  opponents  of  the  drink  trade.  They 
argue  that  strong  drink  is  beyond  all  question  in  Eng- 
land the  chief  source  of  the  misery,  the  vice,  the  degra- 
dation of  the  poor  ;  that  it  not  only  directly  ruins  tens 
of  thousands,  body  and  soul,  but  also  brings  a  mass  of 
wretchedness  that  it  is  difficult  to  overrate  on  their  in- 
nocent families  ;  that  the  drunkard's  craving  for  drink 
often  reproduces  itself  as  an  hereditary  disease  in  his 
children ;  and  that  a  legislator  can  have  no  higher  object 
and  no  plainer  duty  than  by  all  available  means  to  put 
down  the  chief  obstacle  to  the  moral  and  material  well- 
being  of  the  people.  The  principle  of  compulsion,  as 
they  truly  say,  is  more  and  more  pervading  all  depart- 
ments of  industry.  It  is  idle  to  contend  that  the  State 
which,  while  prohibiting  other  forms  of  Sunday  trad- 
ing, gives  a  special  privilege  to  the  most  pernicious  of 
all,  has  not  the  right  to  limit  or  to  withdraw  it,  and 
the  legislature  which  levies  vast  sums  upon  the  whole 
community  for  the  maintenance  of  the  police  as  well  as 
for  poor-houses,  prisons  and  criminal  administration, 
ought  surely,  in  the  interests  of  the  whole  community, 
to  do  all  that  is  in  its  power  to  suppress  the  main  cause 
of  pauperism,  disorder  and  crime. 


MORALS    OF    TEMPERANCE   LEGISLATION         139 

Another  class  of  politicians  approach  the  question 
from  a  wholly  different  point  of  view.  They  emphati- 
cally object  to  imposing  upon  grown-up  men  a  system 
of  moral  restriction  which  is  very  properly  imposed 
upon  children.  They  contend  that  adult  men  who 
have  assumed  all  the  duties  and  responsibilities  of  life, 
and  have  even  a  voice  in  the  government  of  the  coun- 
try, should  regulate  their  own  conduct,  as  far  as  they 
do  not  directly  interfere  with"  their  neighbours,  without 
legal  restraint,  bearing  themselves  the  consequences  of 
their  mistakes  or  excesses.  This,  they  say,  is  the  first 
principle  of  freedom,  the  first  condition  in  the  forma- 
tion of  strong  and  manly  characters.  A  poor  man,  who 
desires  on  his  Sunday  excursion  to  obtain  moderate  re- 
freshment such  as  he  likes  for  himself  or  his  family, 
and  who  goes  to  the  public-house — probably  in  most 
cases  to  meet  his  friends  and  discuss  the  village  gossip 
over  a  glass  of  beer — is  in  no  degree  interfering  with 
the  liberty  of  his  neighbours.  He  is  doing  nothing 
that  is  wrong  ;  nothing  that  he  has  not  a  perfect  right 
to  do.  No  one  denies  the  rich  man  access  to  his  club 
on  Sunday,  and  it  should  be  remembered  that  the  poor 
man  has  neither  the  private  cellars  nor  the  comfortable 
and  roomy  homes  of  the  rich,  and  has  infinitely  fewer 
opportunities  of  recreation.  Because  some  men  abuse 
this  right  and  are  unable  to  drink  alcohol  in  modera- 
tion, are  all  men  to  be  prevented  from  drinking  it  at 
all,  or  at  least  from  drinking  it  on  Sunday  ?  Because 
two  men  agree  not  to  drink  it,  have  they  a  right  to  im- 
pose the  same  obligation  on  an  unwilling  third  ?  Have 
those  who  never  enter  a  public-house,  and  by  their  po- 
sition in  life  never  need  to  enter  it,  a  right,  if  they  are 


140  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

in  a  majority,  to  close  its  doors  against  those  who  use 
it?  On  such  grounds  these  politicians  look  with  ex- 
treme disfavour  on  all  this  restrictive  legislation  as  un- 
just, partial  and  inconsistent  with  freedom. 

Very  few,  however,  would  carry  either  set  of  argu- 
ments to  their  full  logical  consequences.  Not  many 
men  who  have  had  any  practical  experience  in  the  man- 
agement of  men  would  advocate  a  complete  suppression 
of  the  drink  trade,  and  still  fewer  would  put  it  on  the 
basis  of  complete  free  trade,  altogether  exempt  from 
special  legislative  restriction.  To  responsible  politi- 
cians the  course  to  be  pursued  will  depend  mainly  on 
fluctuating  conditions  of  public  opinion.  Restrictions 
will  be  imposed,  but  only  when  and  as  far  as  they  are 
supported  by  a  genuine  public  opinion.  It  must  not 
be  a  mere  majority,  but  a  large  majority  ;  a  steady 
majority  ;  a  genuine  majority  representing  a  real  and 
earnest  desire,  and  especially  in  the  classes  who  are 
most  directly  affected;  not  a  mere  factitious  majority 
such  as  is  often  created  by  skilful  organisation  and 
agitation  ;  by  the  enthusiasm  of  the  few  confronting 
the  indifference  of  the  many.  In  free  and  democratic 
States  one  of  the  most  necessary  but  also  one  of  the 
most  difficult  arts  of  statesmanship  is  that  of  testing 
public  opinion,  discriminating  between  what  is  real, 
growing  and  permanent  and  what  is  transient,  artifi- 
cial and  declining.  As  a  French  writer  has  said,  '  The 
great  art  in  politics  consists  not  in  hearing  those  who 
speak,  but  in  hearing  those  who  are  silent. '  On  such 
questions  as  those  I  have  mentioned  we  may  find  the 
same  statesman  without  any  real  inconsistency  support- 
ing the  same  measures  in  one  part  of  the  kingdom  and 


LEGITIMATE    TIME-SERVING 

opposing  them  in  another;  supporting  them  at  one  time 
because  public  opinion  runs  strongly  in  their  favour; 
opposing  them  at  another  because  that  public  opinion 
has  grown  weak. 

One  of  the  worst  moral  evils  that  grow  up  in  demo- 
cratic countries  is  the  excessive  tendency  to  time-serv- 
ing and  popularity  hunting,  and  the  danger  is  all  the 
greater  because  in  a  certain  sense  both  of  these  things 
are  a  necessity  and  even  a  duty.  Their  moral  quality 
depends  mainly  on  their  motive.  The  question  to  be 
asked  is  whether  a  politician  is  acting  from  personal  or 
merely  party  objects  or  from  honourable  public  ones. 
Every  statesman  must  form  in  his  own  mind  a  concep- 
tion whether  a  prevailing  tendency  is  favourable  or  op- 
posed to  the  real  interests  of  the  country.  It  will  de- 
pend upon  this  judgment  whether  he  will  endeavour  to 
accelerate  or  retard  it ;  whether  he  will  yield  slowly  or 
readily  to  its  pressure,  and  there  are  cases  in  which,  at 
all  hazards  of  popularity  and  influence,  he  should  in- 
exorably oppose  it.  But  in  the  long  run,  under  free 
governments,  political  systems  and  measures  must  be 
adjusted  to  the  wishes  of  the  various  sections  of  the 
people,  and  this  adjustment  is  the  great  work  of  states- 
manship. In  judging  a  proposed  measure  a  states- 
man must  continually  ask  himself  whether  the  coun- 
try is  ripe  for  it — whether  its  introduction,  however 
desirable  it  might  be,  would  not  be  premature,  as  pub- 
lic opinion  is  not  yet  prepared  for  it? — whether, 
even  though  it  be  a  bad  measure,  it  is  not  on  the 
whole  better  to  vote  for  it,  as  the  nation  manifestly 
desires  it  ? 

The  same  kind  of  reasoning  applies  to  the  difficult 


142  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

question  of  education,  and  especially  of  religious  edu- 
cation. Every  one  who  is  interested  in  the  subject  has 
his  own  conviction  about  the  kind  of  education  which 
is  in  itself  the  best  for  the  people,  and  also  the  best  for 
the  Government  to  undertake.  He  may  prefer  that  the 
State  should  confine  itself  to  purely  secular  education, 
leaving  all  religious  teaching  to  voluntary  agencies ;  or 
he  may  approve  of  the  kind  of  undenominational  reli- 
gious teaching  of  the  English  School  Board ;  or  he  may 
be  a  strong  partisan  of  one  of  the  many  forms  of 
distinctly  accentuated  denominational  education.  But 
when  he  comes  to  act  as  a  responsible  legislator,  he 
should  feel  that  the  question  is  not  merely  what  he  con- 
siders the  best,  but  also  what  the  parents  of  the  children 
most  desire.  It  is  true  that  the  authority  of  parents  is 
not  absolutely  recognised.  The  conviction  that  certain 
things  are  essential  to  the  children,  and  to  the  well- 
being  and  vigour  of  the  State,  and  the  conviction  that 
parents  are  often  by  no  means  the  best  judges  of  this, 
make  legislators,  on  some  important  subjects,  override 
the  wishes  of  the  parents.  The  severe  restrictions  im- 
posed on  child  labour  ;  the  measure — unhappily  now 
greatly  relaxed — providing  for  children's  vaccination; 
and  the  legislation  protecting  children  from  ill  treat- 
ment by  their  parents,  are  illustrations,  and  the  most  ex- 
tensive and  far-reaching  of  all  exceptions  is  education. 
After  much  misgiving,  both  parties  in  the  State  have 
arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  it  is  essential  to  the  fu- 
ture of  the  children,  and  essential  also  to  the  mainte- 
nance of  the  relative  position  of  England  in  the  great 
competition  of  nations,  that  at  least  the  rudiments  of 
education  should  be  made  universal,  and  they  are  also 


LEGISLATION   ON    EDUCATION 

convinced  that  this  is  one  of  the  truths  which  perfectly 
ignorant  parents  are  least  competent  to  understand. 
Hence  the  system  which  of  late  years  has  so  rapidly 
extended  of  compulsory  education. 

Many  nations  have  gone  further,  and  have  claimed 
for  the  State  the  right  of  prescribing  absolutely  the 
kind  of  education  that  should  be  permitted,  or  at  least 
the  kind  of  education  which  shall  be  exclusively  sup- 
ported by  State  funds.  In  England  this  is  not  the  case. 
A  great  variety  of  forms  of  education  corresponding  to 
the  wishes  and  opinions  of  different  classes  of  parents 
receive  assistance  from  the  State,  subject  to  the  condi- 
tions of  submitting  to  certain  tests  of  educational  effi- 
ciency, and  to  a  conscience  clause  protecting  minorities 
from  interference  with  their  faith. 

A  case  which  once  caused  much  moral  heart-burning 
among  good  men  was  the  endowment,  by  the  State,  of 
Maynooth  College,  which  is  absolutely  under  the  con- 
trol of  the  Koman  Catholic  priesthood,  and  intended  to 
educate  their  Divinity  students  in  the  Koman  Catholic 
faith.  The  endowment  dated  from  the  period  of  the 
old  Irish  Protestant  Parliament ;  and  when,  on  the  Dis- 
establishment of  the  Irish  Church,  it  came  to  an  end,  it 
was  replaced  by  a  large  capital  grant  from  the  Irish 
Church  Fund,  and  it  is  upon  the  interest  of  that  grant 
that  the  College  is  still  supported.  This  grant  was  de- 
nounced by  many  excellent  men  on  the  ground  that  the 
State  was  Protestant ;  that  it  had  a  definite  religious 
belief  upon  which  it  was  bound  in  conscience  to  act; 
and  that  it  was  a  sinful  apostasy  to  endow  out  of  the 
public  purse  the  teaching  of  what  all  Protestants  believe 
to  be  superstition,  and  what  many  Protestants  believe  to 


144  THE  MAP  OF 

be  idolatrous  and  soul-destroying  error.  The  strength 
of  this  kind  of  feeling  in  England  is  shown  by  the  ex- 
treme difficulty  there  has  been  in  persuading  public 
opinion  to  acquiesce  in  any  form  of  that  concurrent  en- 
dowment of  religions  which  exists  so  widely  and  works 
so  well  upon  the  Continent. 

Many,  again,  who  have  no  objection  to  the  policy  of 
assisting  by  State  subsidies  the  theological  education  of 
the  priests  are  of  opinion  that  it  is  extremely  injurious 
both  to  the  State  and  to  the  young  that  the  secular  edu- 
cation— and  especially  the  higher  secular  education — of 
the  Irish  Catholic  population  should  be  placed  under 
their  complete  control,  and  that,  through  their  influ- 
ence, the  Irish  Catholics  should  be  strictly  separated 
during  the  period  of  their  education  from  their  fellow- 
countrymen  of  other  religions.  No  belief,  in  my  own 
opinion,  is  better  founded  than  this.  If,  however,  those 
who  hold  it  find  that  there  is  a  great  body  of  Catholic 
parents  who  persistently  desire  this  control  and  separa- 
tion ;  who  will  not  be  satisfied  with  any  removal  of  dis- 
abilities and  sectarian  influence  in  systems  of  common 
education  ;  who  object  to  all  mixed  and  undenomina- 
tional education  on  the  ground  that  their  priests  have 
condemned  it,  and  that  they  are  bound  in  conscience  to 
follow  the  orders  of  their  priests,  and  who  are  in  conse- 
quence withholding  from  their  children  the  education 
they  would  otherwise  have  given  them,  such  men  will 
in  my  opinion  be  quite  justified  in  modifying  their 
policy.  As  a  matter  of  expediency  they  will  argue  that 
it  is  better  that  these  Catholics  should  receive  an  indif- 
ferent university  education  than  none  at  all ;  and  that 
it  is  exceedingly  desirable  that  what  is  felt  to  be  a  griev- 


LEGISLATION  ON  EDUCATION 


ance  by  many  honest,  upright  and  loyal  men  should  be 
removed.  As  a  matter  of  principle,  they  contend  that 
in  a  country  where  higher  education  is  largely  and  vari- 
ously endowed  from  public  sources,  it  is  a  real  grievance 
that  there  should  be  one  large  body  of  the  people  who 
can  derive  little  or  no  benefit  from  those  endowments. 
It  is  no  sufficient  answer  to  say  that  the  objection  of  the 
Catholic  parents  is  in  most  cases  not  spontaneous,  but 
is  due  to  the  orders  of  their  priests,  since  we  are  dealing 
with  men  who  believe  it  to  be  a  matter  of  conscience  on 
such  questions  to  obey  their  priests.  Nor  is  it,  I  think, 
sufficient  to  argue  —  as  very  many  enlightened  men  will 
do  —  that  everything  that  could  be  in  the  smallest  de- 
gree repugnant  to  the  faith  of  a  Catholic  has  been  eli- 
minated from  the  education  which  is  imposed  on  them 
in  existing  universities  ;  that  every  post  of  honour, 
emolument  and  power  has  been  thrown  open  to  them  ; 
that  for  generations  they  gladly  followed  the  courses  of 
Dublin  University,  and  are  even  now  permitted  by  their 
ecclesiastics  to  follow  those  of  Oxford  and  Cambridge  ; 
that,  the  nation  having  adopted  the  broad  principle  of 
unsectarian  education  open  to  all,  no  single  sect  has  a 
right  to  exceptional  treatment,  though  every  sect  has 
an  undoubted  right  to  set  up  at  its  own  expense  such 
education  as  it  pleases.  The  answer  is  that  the  objec- 
tion of  a  certain  class  of  Eoman  Catholics  in  Ireland  is 
not  to  any  abuses  that  may  take  place  under  the  system 
of  mixed  and  undenominational  education,  but  to  the 
system  itself,  and  that  the  particular  type  of  education 
of  which  alone  one  considerable  class  of  taxpayers  can 
conscientiously  avail  themselves  has  only  been  set  up 
by  voluntary  effort,  and  is  only  inadequately  and  indi- 
10 


146  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

rectly  endowed  by  the  State.1  Slowly  and  very  reluc- 
tantly governments  in  England  have  come  to  recognise 
the  fact  that  the  trend  of  Catholic  opinion  in  Ireland 
is  as  clearly  in  the  direction  of  denominationalism  as 
the  trend  of  Nonconformist  English  opinion  is  in  the 
direction  of  undenominationalism,  and  that  it  is  im- 
possible to  carry  on  the  education  of  a  priest-ridden 
Catholic  people  on  the  same  lines  as  a  Protestant  one. 
Primary  education  has  become  almost  absolutely  de- 
nominational, and,  directly  or  indirectly,  a  crowd  of  en- 
dowments are  given  to  exclusively  Catholic  institutions. 
On  such  grounds,  many  who  entertain  the  strongest  an- 
tipathy to  the  priestly  control  of  higher  education  are 
prepared  to  advocate  an  increased  endowment  of  some 
university  or  college  which  is  distinctly  sacerdotal, 
while  strenuously  upholding  side  by  side  with  it  the 
undenominational  institutions  which  they  believe  to  be 
incomparably  better,  and  which  are  at  present  resorted 
to  not  only  by  all  Protestants,  but  also  by  a  not  incon- 
siderable body  of  Irish  Catholics. 

Many  of  my  readers  will  probably  come  to  an  oppo- 
site conclusion  on  this  very  difficult  question.  The  ob- 
ject of  what  I  have  written  is  simply  to  show  the  process 
by  which  a  politician  may  conscientiously  advocate  the 
establishment  and  endowment  of  a  thing  which  he  be- 

1  This  sentence  may  appear  culty  receiving  400Z.  a  year,  and 

obscure   to    English     readers,  three    Medical    Fellows    1501. 

The  explanation  is,  that  by  an  each.    By  this  device  the  Catho- 

ingenious  arrangement,  devised  lie  college  has  in  reality  a  State 

by  Lord  Beaconsfield,  the  pro-  endowment  to  the  amount  of 

fessors  of  the  Jesuit  College  in  between  6,0001.   and  7,OOOZ.  a 

Stephen's  Green  are  nearly  all  year.     This  fact   considerably 

made  Fellows  of  the  Royal  Uni-  reduces  the  grievance, 
versity,  those  of  the  Arts  Fa- 


LEGISLATION  ON  EDUCATION  147 

lieves  to  be  intrinsically  bad.  It  is  said  to  have  been  a 
saying  of  Sir  Eobert  Inglis — an  excellent  representative 
of  an  old  school  of  extreme  but  most  conscientious 
Toryism — that  '  he  would  never  vote  one  penny  of  pub- 
lic money  for  any  purpose  which  he  did  not  think  right 
and  good.'  The  impossibility  of  carrying  out  such  a 
principle  must  be  obvious  to  any  one  who  has  truly 
grasped  the  nature  of  representative  government  and 
the  duty  of  a  member  of  Parliament  to  act  as  a  trustee 
for  all  classes  in  the  community.  In  the  exercise  of 
this  function  every  conscientious  member  is  obliged 
continually  to  vote  money  for  purposes  which  he  dis- 
likes. In  the  particular  instance  I  have  just  given,  the 
process  of  reasoning  I  have  described  is  purely  disinter- 
ested, but  of  course  it  is  not  by  such  a  process  of  pure 
reasoning  that  such  a  question  will  be  determined. 
English  and  Scotch  members  will  have  to  consider  the 
effects  of  their  vote  on  their  own  constituencies,  where 
there  are  generally  large  sections  of  electors  with  very 
little  knowledge  of  the  special  circumstances  of  Irish 
education,  but  very  strong  feelings  about  the  Roman 
Catholic  Church.  Statesmen  will  have  to  consider  the 
ulterior  and  various  ways  in  which  their  policy  may 
affect  the  whole  social  and  political  condition  of  Ireland, 
while  the  overwhelming  majority  of  the  Irish  members 
are  elected  by  small  farmers  and  agricultural  labourers 
who  could  never  avail  themselves  of  University  educa- 
tion, and  who  on  all  matters  relating  to  education  act 
blindly  at  the  dictation  of  their  priests. 

Inconsistency  is  no  necessary  condemnation  of  a  poli- 
tician, and  parties  as  well  as  individual  statesmen  have 
abundantly  shown  it.  It  would  lead  me  too  far  in  a 


148  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

book  in  which  the  moral  difficulties  of  politics  form 
only  one  subdivision,  to  enter  into  the  history  of  Eng- 
lish parties;  but  those  who  will  do  so  will  easily  convince 
themselves  that  there  is  hardly  a  principle  of  political 
action  that  has  not  in  party  history  been  abandoned, 
and  that  not  unfrequently  parties  have  come  to  advo- 
cate at  one  period  of  their  history  the  very  measures 
which  at  another  period  they  most  strenuously  resisted. 
Changed  circumstances,  the  growth  or  decline  of  intel- 
lectual tendencies,  party  strategy,  individual  influence, 
have  all  contributed  to  these  mutations,  and  most  of 
them  have  been  due  to  very  blended  motives  of  patri- 
otism and  self-interest. 

In  judging  the  moral  quality  of  the  changes  of  party 
leaders,  the  element  of  time  will  usuuly  be  of  capital 
importance.  Violent  and  sudden  reversals  of  policy  are 
never  effected  by  a  party  without  a  great  loss  of  moral 
weight ;  though  there  are  circumstances  under  which 
they  have  been  imperatively  required.  No  one  will 
now  dispute  the  integrity  of  the  motives  that  induced 
the  Duke  of  Wellington  and  Sir  Robert  Peel  to  carry 
Catholic  Emancipation  in  1829,  when  the  Clare  elec- 
tion had  brought  Ireland  to  the  verge  of  revolution  ; 
and  the  conduct  of  Sir  Robert  Peel  in  carrying  the  re- 
peal of  the  Corn  Laws  was  certainly  not  due  to  any 
motive  either  of  personal  or  party  ambition,  though  it 
may  be  urged  with  force  that  at  a  time  when  he  was 
still  the  leader  of  the  Protectionist  party  his  mind  had 
been  manifestly  moving  in  the  direction  of  Free  trade, 
and  that  the  Irish  famine,  though  not  a  mere  pretext, 
was  not  wholly  the  cause  of  the  surrender.  In  each  of 
these  cases  a  ministry  pledged  to  resist  a  particular  mea- 


POLICY  OF  PEEL  AND  DISRAELI 

Bure  introduced  and  carried  it,  and  did  so  without  any 
appeal  to  the  electors.  The  justification  was  that  the 
measure  in  their  eyes  had  become  absolutely  necessary 
to  the  public  welfare,  and  that  the  condition  of  politics 
made  it  impossible  for  them  either  to  carry  it  by  a  dis- 
solution or  to  resign  the  task  into  other  hands.  Had 
Sir  Eobert  Peel  either  resigned  office  or  dissolved  Par- 
liament after  the  Clare  election  in  1828,  it  is  highly 
probable  that  the  measure  of  Catholic  Emancipation 
could  not  have  been  carried,  and  its  postponement,  in 
his  belief,  would  have  thrown  Ireland  into  a  dangerous 
rebellion.  Few  greater  misfortunes  have  befallen  party 
government  than  the  failure  of  the  Whigs  to  form  a 
ministry  in  1845.  Had  they  done  so  the  abolition  of 
the  Corn  Laws  would  have  been  carried  by  statesmen 
who  were  in  some  measure  supported  by  the  Free-trade 
party,  and  not  by  statesmen  who  had  obtained  their 
power  as  the  special  representatives  of  the  agricultural 
interests. 

Another  case  which  in  a  party  point  of  view  was  more 
successful,  but  which  should  in  my  opinion  be  much 
more  severely  judged,  was  the  Eeform  Bill  of  1867. 
The  Conservative  party,  under  the  guidance  of  Mr.  Dis- 
raeli, defeated  Mr.  Gladstone's  Reform  Bill  mainly  on 
the  ground  that  it  was  an  excessive  step  in  the  direction 
of  Democracy.  The  victory  placed  them  in  office,  and 
they  then  declared  that,  as  the  question  had  been  raised, 
they  must  deal  with  it  themselves.  They  introduced  a 
bill  carrying  the  suffrage  to  a  much  lower  point  than 
that  which  the  late  Government  had  proposed,  but  they 
surrounded  it  with  a  number  of  provisions  securing 
additional  representation  for  particular  classes  and  in- 


150  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

terests  which  would  have  materially  modified  its  demo- 
cratic character. 

But  for  these  safeguarding  provisions  the  party  would 
certainly  not  have  tolerated  the  introduction  of  such  a 
measure,  yet  in  the  face  of  opposition  their  leader 
dropped  them  one  hy  one  as  of  no  capital  importance, 
and,  by  a  leadership  which  was  a  masterpiece  of  unscru- 
pulous adroitness,  succeeded  in  inducing  his  party  to 
carry  a  measure  far  more  democratic  than  that  which 
they  had  a  few  months  before  denounced  and  defeated. 
It  was  argued  that  the  question  must  be  settled  ;  that 
it  must  be  placed  on  a  permanent  and  lasting  basis  ; 
that  it  must  no  longer  be  suffered  to  be  a  weapon  in  the 
hands  of  the  Whigs,  and  that  the  Tory  Reform  Bill, 
though  it  was  acknowledged  to  be  a  '  leap  in  the  dark,' 
had  at  least  the  result  of  'dishing  the  Whigs.'  There 
is  little  doubt  that  it  was  in  accordance  with  the  genu- 
ine convictions  of  Disraeli.  He  belonged  to  a  school  of 
politics  of  which  Bolingbroke,  Carteret  and  Shelburne, 
and,  in  some  periods  of  his  career,  Chatham,  were  earlier 
representatives  who  had  no  real  sympathy  with  the  pre- 
ponderance of  the  aristocratic  element  in  the  old  Tory 
party,  who  had  a  decided  disposition  to  appeal  frankly 
to  democratic  support,  and  who  believed  that  a  strong 
executive  resting  on  a  broad  democratic  basis  was  the 
true  future  of  Toryism.  He  anticipated  to  a  remark- 
able degree  the  school  of  political  thought  which  has 
triumphed  in  our  own  day,  though  he  did  not  live  to 
witness  its  triumph.  At  the  same  time  it  cannot  be  de- 
nied that  the  Reform  Bill  of  1867  in  the  form  in  which 
it  was  ultimately  carried  was  as  far  as  possible  from  the 
wishes  and  policy  of  his  party  in  the  beginning  of  the 


VARYING  IMPORTANCE  OF  PARTY 


session,  and  as  inconsistent  as  any  policy  could  be  with 
their  language  and  conduct  in  the  session  that  pre- 
ceded it. 

A  parliamentary  government  chosen  on  the  party 
system  is,  as  we  have  seen,  at  once  the  trustee  of  the 
whole  nation,  bound  as  such  to  make  the  welfare  of  the 
whole  its  supreme  end,  and  also  the  special  representa- 
tive of  particular  classes,  the  special  guardian  of  their 
interests,  aims,  wishes,  and  principles.  The  two  points 
of  view  are  not  the  same,  and  grave  difficulties,  both 
ethical  and  political,  have  often  to  be  encountered  in 
endeavouring  to  harmonise  them.  It  is,  of  course,  not 
true  that  a  party  object  is  merely  a  matter  of  place  or 
power,  and  naturally  a  different  thing  from  a  patriotic 
object.  The  very  meaning  of  party  is  that  public  men 
consider  certain  principles  of  government,  certain  lines 
of  policy,  the  protection  and  development  of  particular 
interests,  of  capital  importance  to  the  nation,  and  they 
are  therefore  on  purely  public  grounds  fully  justified  in 
making  it  a  main  object  to  place  the  government  of  the 
country  in  the  hands  of  their  party.  The  importance, 
however,  of  maintaining  a  particular  party  in  power 
varies  greatly.  In  many,  probably  in  most,  periods  of 
English  history  a  change  of  government  means  no  vio- 
lent or  far-reaching  alteration  in  policy.  It  means  only 
that  one  set  of  tendencies  in  legislation  will  for  a  time 
be  somewhat  relaxed,  and  another  set  somewhat  inten- 
sified ;  that  the  interests  of  one  class  will  be  somewhat 
more  and  those  of  another  class  somewhat  less  attended 
to  ;  that  the  rate  of  progress  or  change  will  be  slightly 
accelerated  or  retarded.  Sometimes  it  means  even  less 
than  this.  Opinions  on  the  two  front  benches  are  so 


152  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

nearly  assimilated  that  a  change  of  government  prin- 
cipally means  the  removal  for  a  time  from  office  of 
ministers  who  have  made  some  isolated  administrative 
blunders  or  incurred  some  individual  unpopularity  quite 
apart  from  their  party  politics.  It  means  that  mini- 
sters who  are  jaded  and  somewhat  worn  out  by  several 
years'  continuous  work,  and  of  whom  the  country  had 
grown  tired,  are  replaced  by  men  who  can  bring  fresher 
minds  and  energies  to  the  task  ;  that  patronage  in  all 
its  branches  having  for  some  years  gone  mainly  to  one 
party,  the  other  party  are  now  to  have  their  turn. 
There  are  periods  when  the  country  is  well  satisfied 
with  the  general  policy  of  a  government  but  not  with 
the  men  who  carry  it  on.  Ministers  of  excellent  princi- 
ples prove  inefficient,  tactless,  or  unfortunate,  or  quar- 
rels and  jealousies  arise  among  them,  or  difficult  nego- 
tiations are  going  on  with  foreign  nations  which  can  be 
best  brought  to  a  successful  termination  if  they  are 
placed  in  the  hands  of  fresh  men,  unpledged  and  un- 
entangled  by  their  past.  The  country  wants  a  change 
of  government  but  not  a  change  of  policy,  and  under 
such  circumstances  the  task  of  a  victorious  opposition 
is  much  less  to  march  in  new  directions  than  to  mark 
time,  to  carry  on  the  affairs  of  the  nation  on  the  same 
lines,  but  with  greater  administrative  skill.  In  such 
periods  the  importance  of  party  objects  is  much  dimi- 
nished and  a  policy  which  is  intended  merely  to  keep  a 
party  in  power  should  be  severely  condemned. 

Sometimes,  however,  it  happens  that  a  party  has  com- 
mitted itself  to  a  particular  measure  which  its  opponents 
believe  to  be  in  a  high  degree  dangerous  or  even  ru- 
inous to  the  country.  In  that  case  it  becomes  a  matter 


TEMPTATIONS  TO  WAR  153 

of  supreme  importance  to  keep  this  party  out  of  office, 
or,  if  they  are  in  office,  to  keep  them  in  a  position  of 
permanent  debility  till  this  dangerous  project  is  aban- 
doned. Under  such  circumstances  statesmen  are  justi- 
fied in  carrying  party  objects  and  purely  party  legislation 
much  further  than  in  other  periods.  To  strengthen 
their  own  party  ;  to  gain  for  it  the  largest  amount  of 
popularity  ;  to  win  the  support  of  different  factions  of 
the  House  of  Commons,  become  a  great  public  object  ; 
and,  in  order  to  carry  it  out,  sacrifices  of  policy  and  in 
some  degree  of  principle,  the  acceptance  of  measures 
which  the  party  had  once  opposed,  and  the  adjourn- 
ment or  abandonment  of  measures  to  which  it  had  been 
pledged,  which  would  once  have  been  very  properly  con- 
demned, become  justifiable.  The  supreme  interest  of 
the  State  is  the  end  and  the  justification  of  their  policy, 
and  alliances  are  formed  which  under  less  pressing  cir- 
cumstances would  have  been  impossible,  and  which, 
once  established,  sometimes  profoundly  change  the  per- 
manent character  of  party  politics.  Here,  as  in  nearly 
all  political  matters,  an  attention  to  proportion  and  de- 
gree, the  sacrifice  of  the  less  for  the  attainment  of  the 
greater,  mark  the  path  both  of  wisdom  and  of  duty. 

The  temptations  of  party  politicians  are  of  many 
kinds  and  vary  greatly  with  different  stages  of  political 
development.  The  worst  is  the  temptation  to  war. 
War  undertaken  without  necessity,  or  at  least  without 
serious  justification,  is,  according  to  all  sound  ethics, 
the  gravest  of  crimes,  and  among  its  causes  motives 
of  the  kind  I  have  indicated  may  be  often  detected. 
Many  wars  have  been  begun  or  have  been  prolonged  iu 
order  to  consolidate  a  dynasty  or  a  party  ;  in  order  to 


154  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

give  it  popularity  or  at  least  to  save  it  from  unpopu- 
larity ;  in  order  to  divert  the  minds  of  men  from  in- 
ternal questions  which  had  become  dangerous  or  em- 
barrassing, or  to  efface  the  memory  of  past  quarrels, 
mistakes  or  crimes.1  Experience  unfortunately  shows 
only  too  clearly  how  easily  the  combative  passions  of 
^nations  can  be  aroused  and  how  much  popularity  may 
be  gained  by  a  successful  war.  Even  in  this  case,  it  is 
true,  war  usually  impoverishes  the  country  that  wages 
it,  but  there  are  large  classes  to  whom  it  is  by  no  means 
a  calamity.  The  high  level  of  agricultural  prices  ;  the 
brilliant  careers  opened  to  the  military  and  naval  pro- 
fessions ;  the  many  special  industries  which  are  imme- 
diately stimulated  ;  the  rise  in  the  rate  of  interest ;  the 
opportunities  of  wealth  that  spring  from  violent  fluc- 
tuations on  the  Stock  Exchange  ;  even  the  increased 
attractiveness  of  the  newspapers, — all  tend  to  give  par- 
ticular classes  an  interest  in  its  continuance.  Some- 
times it  is  closely  connected  with  party  sympathies. 
During  the  French  wars  of  Anne,  the  facts  that  Marl- 
borough  was  a  Whig,  and  that  the  Elector  of  Hanover, 
who  was  the  hope  of  the  Whig  party,  was  in  favour  of 
the  war,  contributed  very  materially  to  retard  the  peace. 
A  state  of  great  internal  disquietude  is  often  a  tempta- 
tion to  war,  not  because  it  leads  to  it  directly,  but  be- 
cause rulers  find  a  foreign  war  the  best  means  of  turning 


1  See  e.g.  the  death-bed  counsels  of  Henry  IV.  to  his  son  : — 

'  Therefore,  my  Harry, 
Be  it  thy  course  to  busy  giddy  minds 
With  foreign  quarrels  ;  that  action,  hence  borne  out, 
May  waste  the  memory  of  the  former  days.' 

Henry  IV.  Part  II.  Act  IV.  Sc.  4. 


TEMPTATIONS  OF  DEMOCRACIES  155 

dangerous  and  disturbing  energies  into  new  channels, 
and  at  the  same  time  of  strengthening  the  military  and 
authoritative  elements  in  the  community.  The  success- 
ful transformation  of  the  anarchy  of  the  great  French 
Revolution  into  a  career  of  conquest  is  a  typical  ex- 
ample. 

In  aristocratic  governments  such  as  existed  in  Eng- 
land during  the  eighteenth  century,  temptations  to 
corruption  were  especially  strong.  To  build  up  a  vast 
system  of  parliamentary  influence  by  rotten  boroughs, 
and,  by  systematically  bestowing  honours  on  those  who 
could  control  them,  to  win  the  support  of  great  cor- 
porations and  professions  by  furthering  their  interests 
and  abstaining  from  all  efforts  to  reform  them,  was  a 
chief  part  of  the  statecraft  of  the  time.  Class  privi- 
leges in  many  forms  were  created,  extended  and  main- 
tained, and  in  some  countries — though  much  less  in 
England  than  on  the  Continent — the  burden  of  taxa- 
tion was  most  inequitably  distributed,  falling  mainly  on 
the  poor. 

In  democratic  governments  the  temptations  are  of  a 
different  kind.  Popularity  is  there  the  chief  source  of 
power,  and  the  supreme  tribunal  consists  of  numbers 
counted  by  the  head.  The  well-being  of  the  great  mass 
of  the  people  is  the  true  end  of  politics,  but  it  does  not 
necessarily  follow  that  the  opinion  of  the  least  instructed 
majority  is  the  best  guide  to  obtaining  it.  In  dwelling 
upon  the  temptations  of  politicians  under  such  a  system 
I  do  not  now  refer  merely  to  the  unscrupulous  agitator 
or  demagogue  who  seeks  power,  notoriety  or  popularity 
by  exciting  class  envies  and  animosities,  by  setting  the 
poor  against  the  rich  and  preaching  the  gospel  of  pub- 


156  THE  MAP  OF    LIFE 

lie  plunder ;  nor  would  I  dilate  upon  the  methods  so 
largely  employed  in  the  United  States  of  accumulating, 
by  skilfully  devised  electoral  machinery,  great  masses  of 
voting  power  drawn  from  the  most  ignorant  voters,  and 
making  use  of  them  for  purposes  of  corruption.  I 
would  dwell  rather  on  the  bias  which  almost  inevitably 
obliges  the  party  leader  to  measure  legislation  mainly 
by  its  immediate  popularity,  and  its  consequent  suc- 
cess in  adding  to  his  voting  strength.  In  some  coun- 
tries this  tendency  shows  itself  in  lavish  expenditure 
on  public  works  which  provide  employment  for  great 
masses  of  workmen  and  give  a  great  immediate  popu- 
larity in  a  constituency,  leaving  to  posterity  a  heavy 
burden  of  accumulated  debt.  Much  of  the  financial 
embarrassment  of  Europe  is  due  to  this  source,  and  in 
most  countries  extravagance  in  government  expenditure 
is  more  popular  than  economy.  Sometimes  it  shows 
itself  in  a  legislation  which  regards  only  proximate  or 
immediate  effects,  and  wholly  neglects  those  which  are 
distant  and  obscure.  A  far-sighted  policy  sacrificing 
the  present  to  a  distant  future  becomes  more  difficult ; 
measures  involving  new  principles,  but  meeting  present 
embarrassments  or  securing  immediate  popularity,  are 
started  with  little  consideration  for  the  precedents  they 
are  establishing  and  for  the  more  extensive  changes  that 
may  follow  in  their  train.  The  conditions  of  labour 
are  altered  for  the  benefit  of  the  existing  workmen,  per- 
haps at  the  cost  of  diverting  capital  from  some  great 
form  of  industry,  making  it  impossible  to  resist  foreign 
competition,  and  thus  in  the  long  run  restricting  em- 
ployment and  seriously  injuring  the  very  class  who  were 
to  have  been  benefited. 


NECESSITY   OF  ASSIMILATING   LEGISLATION       157 

When  one  party  has  introduced  a  measure  of  this 
kind  the  other  is  under  the  strongest  temptation  to  out- 
bid it,  and  under  the  stress  of  competition  and  through 
the  fear  of  being  distanced  in  the  race  of  popularity 
both  parties  often  end  by  going  much  further  than 
either  had  originally  intended.  When  the  rights  of  the 
few  are  opposed  to  the  interests  of  the  many  there  is  a 
constant  tendency  to  prefer  the  latter.  It  may  be  that 
the  few  are  those  who  have  built  up  an  industry  ;  who 
have  borne  all  the  risk  and  cost,  who  have  by  far  the 
largest  interest  in  its  success.  The  mere  fact  that  they 
are  the  few  determines  the  bias  of  the  legislators.  There 
is  a  constant  disposition  to  tamper  with  even  clearly  de- 
nned and  guaranteed  rights  if  by  doing  so  some  large 
class  of  voters  can  be  conciliated. 

Parliamentary  life  has  many  merits,  but  it  has  a 
manifest  tendency  to  encourage  short  views.  The  im- 
mediate party  interest  becomes  so  absorbing  that  men 
find  it  difficult  to  look  greatly  beyond  it.  The  desire 
of  a  skilful  debater  to  use  the  topics  that  will  most  in- 
fluence the  audience  before  him,  or  the  desire  of  a  party 
leader  to  pursue  the  course,  most  likely  to  be  successful 
in  an  immediately  impending  contest,  will  often  over- 
ride all  other  considerations,  and  the  whole  tendency  of 
parliamentary  life  is  to  concentrate  attention  on  land- 
marks which  are  not  very  distant,  thinking  little  of 
what  is  beyond. 

One  great  cause  of  the  inconsistency  of  parties  lies  in 
the  absolute  necessity  of  assimilating  legislation.  Many, 
for  example,  are  of  opinion  that  the  existing  tendency 
to  introduce  government  regulations  and  interferences 
into  all  departments  is  at  least  greatly  exaggerated,  and 


158  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

that  it  would  be  far  better  if  a  larger  sphere  were  left 
to  individual  action  and  free  contract.  But  if  large 
departments  of  industry  have  been  brought  under  the 
system  of  regulation,  it  is  practically  impossible  to  leave 
analogous  industries  under  a  different  system,  and  the 
men  who  most  dislike  the  tendency  are  often  themselves 
obliged  to  extend  it.  They  cannot  resist  the  conten- 
tion that  certain  legislative  protections  or  other  special 
favours  have  been  granted  to  one  class  of  workmen,  and 
that  there  is  no  real  ground  for  distinguishing  their 
case  from  that  of  others.  The  dominant  tendency  will 
thus  naturally  extend  itself,  and  every  considerable 
legislative  movement  carries  others  irresistibly  in  its 
train. 

The  pressure  of  this  consideration  is  most  painfully 
felt  in  the  case  of  legislation  which  appears  not  simply 
inexpedient  and  unwise,  but  distinctly  dishonest.  In 
legislation  relating  to  contracts  there  is  a  clear  ethical 
distinction  to  be  drawn.  It  is  fully  within  the  moral 
right  of  legislators  to  regulate  the  conditipns  of  future 
contracts.  It  is  a  very  different  thing  to  break  existing 
contracts,  or  to  take  the  still  more  extreme  step  of  alter- 
ing their  conditions  to  the  benefit  of  one  party  without 
the  assent  of  the  other,  leaving  that  other  party  bound 
by  their  restrictions. 

In  the  American  Constitution  there  is  a  special 
clause  making  it  impossible  for  any  State  to  pass  any 
law  violating  contracts.  In  England,  unfortunately, 
no  such  provision  exists.  The  most  glaring  and 
undoubted  instance  of  this  kind  is  to  be  found  in  the 
Irish  land  legislation  which  was  begun  by  the  Min- 
istry of  Mr.  Gladstone,  but  which  has  been  largely  ex- 


IRISH  LAND  LEGISLATION  159 

tended  by  the  party  that  originally  most  strenuously 
opposed  it.  Much  may  no  doubt  be  said  to  palliate  it  : 
agricultural  depression  ;  the  excessive  demand  for  land  ; 
the  fact  that  improvements  were  in  Ireland  usually 
made  by  the  tenants  (who,  however,  were  perfectly 
aware  of  the  conditions  under  which  they  made  them, 
and  whose  rents  were  proportionately  lower) ;  the  preva- 
lence in  some  parts  of  Ireland  of  land  customs  unsanc- 
tioned  by  law  ;  the  existence  of  a  great  revolutionary 
movement  which  had  brought  the  country  into  a  con- 
dition of  disgraceful  anarchy.  But  when  all  this  has 
been  admitted,  it  remains  indisputable  to  every  clear 
and  honest  mind  that  English  law  has  taken  away  with- 
out compensation  unquestionably  legal  property  and 
broken  unquestionably  legal  contracts.  A  landlord 
placed  a  tenant  on  his  farm  on  a  yearly  tenancy,  but  if 
he  desired  to  exercise  his  plain  legal  right  of  resuming 
it  at  the  termination  of  the  year,  he  was  compelled  to 
pay  a  compensation  'for  disturbance,'  which  might 
amount  to  seven  times  the  yearly  rent.  A  landlord  let 
his  land  to  a  farmer  for  a  longer  period  under  a  clear 
written  contract  bearing  the  government  stamp,  and 
this  contract  defined  the  rent  to  be  paid,  the  conditions 
under  which  the  farm  was  to  be  held,  and  the  number 
of  years  during  which  it  was  to  be  alienated  from  its 
owner.  The  fundamental  clause  of  the  lease  distinctly 
stipulated  that  at  the  end  of  the  assigned  term  the  ten- 
ant must  hand  back  that  farm  to  the  owner  from  whom 
he  received  it.  The  law  has  interposed,  and  determined 
that  the  rent  which  this  farmer  had  undertaken  to  pay 
shall  be  reduced  by  a  government  tribunal  without  the 
assent  of  the  owner,  and  without  giving  the  owner  the 


160  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

option  of  dissolving  the  contract  and  seeking  a  new 
tenant.  It  has  gone  further,  and  provided  that  at  the 
termination  of  the  lease  the  tenant  shall  not  hand  back 
the  land  to  the  owner  according  to  the  terms  of  his  con- 
tract, but  shall  remain  for  all  future  time  the  occupier, 
subject  only  to  a  rent  fixed  and  periodically  revised, 
irrespective  of  the  wishes  of  the  landlord,  by  an  inde- 
pendent tribunal.  Vast  masses  of  property  in  Ireland 
had  been  sold  under  the  Incumbered  Estates  Act  by  a 
government  tribunal  acting  as  the  representative  of  the 
Imperial  Parliament,  and  each  purchaser  obtained  from 
this  tribunal  a  parliamentary  title  making  him  absolute 
owner  of  the  soil  and  of  every  building  upon  it,  subject 
only  to  the  existing  tenancies  in  the  schedule.  No 
accounts  of  the  earlier  history  of  the  property  were 
handed  to  him,  for  except  under  the  terms  of  the  leases 
which  had  not  yet  expired  he  had  no  liability  for  any- 
thing in  the  past.  The  title  he  received  was  deemed 
so  indefeasible  that  in  one  memorable  case,  where  by 
mistake  a  portion  of  the  property  of  one  man  had  been 
included  in  the  sale  of  the  property  of  another  man, 
the  Court  of  Appeal  decided  that  the  injustice  could 
not  be  remedied,  as  it  was  impossible,  except  in  the  case 
of  intentional  fraud,  to  go  behind  parliamentary  titles. 1 
In  cases  in  which  the  land  was  let  at  low  rents,  and  in 
cases  where  tenants  held  under  leases  which  would  soon 
expire,  the  facility  of  raising  the  rents  was  constantly 
specified  by  the  authority  of  the  Court  as  an  induce- 
ment to  purchasers. 

What  has  become  of  this  parliamentary  title  ?     Im- 


1  Lord  Lanesborough  v.  Reilly. 


IRISH  LAND  LEGISLATION 

provements,  if  they  had  been  made,  or  were  presumed 
to  have  been  made  by  tenants  anterior  to  the  sale,  have 
ceased  to  be  the  property  of  the  purchaser,  and  he  has 
at  the  same  time  been  deprived  of  some  of  the  plainest 
and  most  inseparable  rights  of  property.  He  has  lost 
the  power  of  disposing  of  his  farms  in  the  open  market, 
of  regulating  the  terms  and  conditions  on  which  he  lets 
them,  of  removing  a  tenant  whom  he  considers  unsuit- 
able, of  taking  the  land  back  into  his  own  hands  when 
the  specified  term  of  a  tenancy  had  expired,  of  availing 
himself  of  the  enhanced  value  which  a  war  or  a  period 
of  great  prosperity,  or  some  other  exceptional  circum- 
stance, may  have  given  to  his  property.  He  has  become 
a  simple  rent-charger  on  the  land  which  by  inheritance 
or  purchase  was  incontestably  his  own,  and  the  amount 
of  his  rent-charge  is  settled  and  periodically  revised  by 
a  tribunal  in  which  he  has  no  voice,  and  which  has  been 
given  an  absolute  power  over  his  estate.  He  bought  or 
inherited  an  exclusive  right.  The  law  has  turned  it 
into  a  dual  ownership.  A  tenant  right  which,  when 
he  obtained  his  property,  was  wholly  unknown  to  the 
law,  and  was  only  generally  recognised  by  custom  in 
one  province,  has  been  carved  out  of  it.  The  tenant 
who  happened  to  be  in  occupation  when  the  law  was 
passed  can,  without  the  consent  of  the  owner,  sell  to 
another  the  right  of  occupying  the  farm  at  the  ex- 
isting rent.  In  numerous  cases  this  tenant  right  is 
more  valuable  than  the  fee  simple  of  the  farm.  In 
many  cases  a  farmer  who  had  eagerly  begged  to  be  a 
tenant  at  a  specified  rent  has  afterwards  gone  into  the 
land  court  and  had  that  rent  reduced,  and  has  then 
proceeded  to  sell  the  tenant  right  for  a  sum  much  more 
11 


162  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

than  equivalent  to  the  difference  between  the  two  rents. 
In  many  cases  this  has  happened  where  there  could  be 
no  possible  question  of  improvements  by  the  tenant. 
The  tenant  right  of  the  smaller  farms  has  steadily  risen 
in  proportion  as  the  rent  has  been  reduced.  In  many 
cases,  no  doubt,  the  excessive  price  of  tenant  right  may 
be  attributed  to  the  land  hunger  or  passion  for  land 
speculation  so  common  in  Ireland,  or  to  some  excep- 
tional cause  inducing  a  farmer  to  give  an  extravagant 
price  for  the  tenant  right  of  a  particular  farm.  But 
although  in  such  instances  the  price  of  tenant  right  is 
a  deceptive  test,  the  movement,  when  it  is  a  general 
one,  is  a  clear  proof  that  the  reduction  of  rent  did  not 
represent  an  equivalent  decline  in  the  marketable  value 
of  the  land,  but  was  simply  a  gratuitous  transfer,  by  the 
State,  of  property  from  one  person  to  another.  Hav- 
ing in  the  first  place  turned  the  exclusive  ownership 
of  the  landlord  into  a  simple  partnership,  the  tribunal 
proceeded,  in  defiance  of  all  equity,  to  throw  the  whole 
burden  of  the  agricultural  depression  on  one  of  the  two 
partners.  The  law  did,  it  is  true,  reserve  to  the  land- 
lord the  right  of  pre-emption,  or  in  other  words  the 
right  of  purchasing  the  tenant  right  when  it  was  for  sale, 
at  a  price  to  be  determined  by  the  Court,  and  thus  becom- 
ing once  more  the  absolute  owner  of  his  farm.  The  sum 
specified  by  the  Court  was  usually  about  sixteen  years' 
purchase  of  the  judicial  rent.  By  the  payment  of  this 
large  sum  he  may  regain  the  property  which  a  few  years 
ago  was  incontestably  his  own,  which  was  held  by  him 
under  the  most  secure  title  known  to  English  law,  and 
which  was  taken  from  him,  not  by  any  process  of  honest 
purchase,  but  by  an  act  of  simple  legislative  confiscation. 


IRISH  LAND  LEGISLATION 


Whatever  palliations  of  expediency  may  be  alleged, 
the  true  nature  of  this  legislation  cannot  reasonably  be 
questioned,  and  it  has  established  a  precedent  which  is 
certain  to  grow.  The  point,  however,  on  which  I 
would  especially  dwell  is  that  the  very  party  which 
most  strongly  opposed  it,  and  which  most  clearly  ex- 
posed its  gross  and  essential  dishonesty,  have  found 
themselves,  or  believed  themselves  to  be,  bound  not 
only  to  accept  it  but  to  extend  it.  They  have  con- 
tended that,  as  a  matter  of  practical  politics,  it  is  im- 
possible to  grant  such  privileges  to  one  class  of  agri- 
cultural tenants  and  to  withhold  it  from  others.  The 
chief  pretext  for  this  legislation  in  its  first  stages  wa« 
that  it  was  for  the  benefit  of  very  poor  tenants  who 
were  incapable  of  making  their  own  bargains,  and  that 
the  fixity  of  tenure  which  the  law  gave  to  yearly  ten- 
ants as  long  as  they  paid  their  rents  had  been  very 
generally  voluntarily  given  them  by  good  landlords. 
But  the  measure  was  soon  extended  by  a  Unionist  go- 
vernment to  the  leaseholders,  who  are  the  largest  and 
most  independent  class  of  farmers,  and  who  held  their 
land  for  a  definite  time  and  under  a  distinct  written 
contract.  It  is  in  truth  much  more  the  shrewder  and 
wealthier  farmers  than  the  poor  and  helpless  ones  that 
this  legislation  has  chiefly  benefited. 

Instances  of  this  kind,  in  which  strong  expediency 
or  an  absolute  political  necessity  is  in  apparent  conflict 
with  elementary  principles  of  right  and  wrong,  are 
among  the  most  difficult  with  which  a  politician  has  to 
deal.  He  must  govern  the  country  and  preserve  it  in 
a  condition  of  tolerable  order,  and  he  sometimes  per- 
suades himself  that  without  a  capitulation  to  anarchy, 


164  THE  MAP  OF  L1FE 

without  attacks  on  property  and  violations  of  contract, 
this  is  impossible.  Whether  the  necessity  is  as  abso- 
lute or  the  expediency  as  rightly  calculated  as  he  sup- 
posed, may  indeed  be  open  to  much  question,  but  there 
can  be  no  doubt  that  most  of  the  English  statesmen 
who  carried  the  Irish  agrarian  legislation  sincerely  be- 
lieved it,  and  some  of  them  imagined  that  they  were 
giving  a  security  and  finality  to  the  property  which  was 
left,  that  would  indemnify  the  plundered  landlords. 
Perhaps,  under  such  circumstances,  the  most  that  can 
be  said  is  that  wise  legislators  will  endeavour,  by  en- 
couraging purchase  on  a  large  scale,  gradually  to  re- 
store the  absolute  ownership  and  the  validity  of  con- 
tract which  have  been  destroyed,  and  at  the  same  time 
to  compensate  indirectly — if  they  cannot  do  it  directly 
— the  former  owners  for  that  portion  of  their  losses 
which  is  not  due  to  merely  economical  causes,  but  to 
acts  of  the  legislature  that  were  plainly  fraudulent. 

There  are  other  temptations  of  a  different  kind  with 
which  party  leaders  have  to  deal.  One  of  the  most 
serious  is  the  tendency  to  force  questions  for  which 
there  is  no  genuine  desire,  in  order  to  restore  the  unity 
or  the  zeal  of  a  divided  or  dispirited  party.  As  all 
politicians  know,  the  desire  for  an  attractive  programme 
and  a  popular  election  cry  is  one  of  the  strongest  in 
politics,  and,  as  they  also  know  well,  there  is  such  a 
thing  as  manufactured  public  opinion  and  artificially 
stimulated  agitation.  Questions  are  raised  and  pushed, 
not  because  they  are  for  the  advantage  of  the  country, 
but  simply  for  the  purposes  of  party.  The  leaders  have 
often  little  or  no  power  of  resistance.  The  pressure  of 
their  followers,  or  of  a  section  of  their  followers,  be- 


MORALITY  IN  POLITICS 

comes  irresistible  ;  ill-considered  hopes  are  held  out ; 
rash  pledges  are  extorted,  and  the  party  as  a  whole  is 
committed.  Much  premature  and  mischievous  legisla- 
tion may  be  traced  to  such  causes. 

Another  very  difficult  question  is  the  manner  in 
which  governments  should  deal  with  the  acts  of  public 
servants  which  are  intended  for  the  public  service,  but 
which  in  some  of  their  parts  are  morally  indefensible. 
Very  few  of  the  great  acquisitions  of  nations  have  been 
made  by  means  that  were  absolutely  blameless,  and  in 
a  great  empire  which  has  to  deal  with  uncivilised  or 
semi-civilised  populations  acts  of  violence  are  certain 
to  be  not  infrequent.  Neither  in  our  judgments  of 
history  nor  in  our  judgments  of  contemporaries  is  it 
possible  to  apply  the  full  stringency  of  private  morals 
to  the  cases  of  men  acting  in  posts  of  great  responsibi- 
lity and  danger  amid  the  storms  of  revolution,  or  panic, 
or  civil  war.  With  the  vast  interests  confided  to  their 
care,  and  the  terrible  dangers  that  surround  them, 
measures  must  often  be  taken  which  cannot  be  wholly 
or  at  least  legally  justified.  On  the  other  hand,  men 
in  such  circumstances  are  only  too  ready  to  accept  the 
principle  of  Macchiavelli  and  of  Napoleon,  and  to  treat 
politics  as  if  they  had  absolutely  no  connection  with 
morals. 

Cases  of  this  kind  must  be  considered  separately  and 
with  a  careful  examination  of  the  motives  of  the  actor 
and  of  the  magnitude  of  the  dangers  he  had  to  encoun- 
ter. Allowances  must  be  made  for  the  moral  atmo- 
sphere in  which  he  moved,  and  his  career  must  be  con- 
sidered as  a  whole,  and  not  only  in  its  peccant  parts. 
In  the  trial  of  Warren  Hastings,  and  in  the  judgments 


166  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

which  historians  have  passed  on  the  lives  of  the  other 
great  adventurers  who  have  built  up  the  Empire,  ques- 
tions of  this  kind  continually  arise. 

In  our  own  day  also  they  have  been  very  frequent. 
The  Coup  d'etat  of  the  2nd  of  December,  1851,  is  an 
extreme  example.  Louis  Napoleon  had  sworn  to  ob- 
serve and  to  defend  the  Constitution  of  the  French  Re- 
public, which  had  been  established  in  1848,  and  that 
Constitution,  among  other  articles,  pronounced  the 
persons  of  the  representatives  of  the  people  to  be  invio- 
lable ;  declared  every  act  of  the  President  which  dis- 
solved the  Assembly  or  prorogued  it,  or  in  any  way 
trammelled  it  in  the  exercise  of  its  functions,  to  be 
high  treason,  and  guaranteed  the  fullest  liberty  of  writ- 
ing and  discussion.  *  The  oath  which  I  have  just 
taken,'  said  the  President,  addressing  the  Assembly, 
'  commands  my  future  conduct.  My  duty  is  clear  ;  I 
will  fulfil  it  as  a  man  of  honour.  I  shall  regard  as  ene- 
mies of  the  country  all  those  who  endeavour  to  change 
by  illegal  means  what  all  France  has  established.'  In 
more  than  one  subsequent  speech  he  reiterated  the  same 
sentiments  and  endeavoured  to  persuade  the  country 
that  under  no  possible  circumstances  would  he  break 
his  oath  or  violate  his  conscience,  or  overstep  the  limits . 
of  his  constitutional  powers. 

What  he  did  is  well  known.  Before  daybreak  on 
December  2,  some  of  the  most  eminent  statesmen  in 
France,  including  eighteen  members  of  the  Chamber, 
were,  by  his  orders,  arrested  in  their  beds  and  sent  to 
prison,  and  many  of  them  afterwards  to  exile.  The 
Chamber  was  occupied  by  soldiers,  and  its  members, 
who  assembled  in  another  place,  were  marched  to  pri- 


THE  COUP  D'fiTAT  OF  NAPOLEON  167 

son.  The  High  Court  of  Justice  was  dissolved  by 
force.  Martial  law  was  proclaimed.  Orders  were  given 
that  all  who  resisted  the  usurpation  in  the  streets  were 
at  once,  and  without  trial,  to  be  shot.  All  liberty  of 
the  press,  all  liberty  of  public  meeting  or  discussion, 
were  absolutely  destroyed.  About  one  hundred  news- 
papers were  suppressed  and  great  numbers  of  their  edi- 
tors transported  to  Cayenne.  Nothing  was  allowed  to 
be  published  without  Government  authority.  In  or- 
der to  deceive  the  people  as  to  the  amount  of  support 
behind  the  President,  a  '  Consultative  Commission ' 
was  announced  and  the  names  were  placarded  in  Paris. 
Fully  half  the  persons  whose  names  were  placed  on  this 
list  refused  to  serve,  but  in  spite  of  their  protests  their 
names  were  kept  there  in  order  that  they  might  appear 
to  have  approved  of  what  was  done.1  Orders  were 
issued  immediately  after  the  Coup  d'etat  that  every 
public  functionary  who  did  not  instantly  give  in  writ- 
ing his  adhesion  to  the  new  Government  should  be 
dismissed.  The  Prefets  were  given  the  right  to  arrest 
in  their  departments  whoever  they  pleased.  By  an  ex 
post  facto  decree,  issued  on  December  8,  the  Executive 
were  enabled  without  trial  to  send  to  Cayenne,  or  to 
the  penal  settlements  in  Africa,  any  persons  who  had 
in  any  past  time  belonged  to  a  'secret  society,'  and 
this  order  placed  all  the  numerous  members  of  political 
clubs  at  the  mercy  of  the  Government.  Parliament, 
when  it  was  suffered  to  reassemble,  was  so  organised 
and  shackled  that  every  vestige  of  free  discussion  for 


1  See  Tocqueville's  Memoirs  (English  trans.),  ii.  189,  Letter  to 
the  Times. 


168  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

many  years  disappeared,  and  a  despotism  of  almost 
Asiatic  severity  was  established  in  France. 

It  may  be  fully  conceded  that  the  tragedy  of  Decem- 
ber 4,  when  for  more  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour  some 
3,000  French  soldiers  deliberately  fired  volley  after  vol- 
ley without  return  upon  the  unoffending  spectators  on 
the  Boulevards,  broke  into  the  houses  and  killed  multi- 
tudes, not  only  of  men  but  of  women  and  children,  till 
the  Boulevards,  in  the  words  of  an  English  eye-wit- 
ness, were  '  at  some  points  a  perfect  shambles, '  and  the 
blood  lay  in  pools  round  the  trees  that  fringed  them, 
was  not  ordered  by  the  President,  though  it  remained 
absolutely  unpunished  and  uncensured  by  him.  There 
is  conflicting  evidence  on  this  point,  but  it  is  probable 
that  some  stray  shots  had  been  fired  from  the  houses, 
and  it  is  certain  that  a  wild  and  sanguinary  panic  had 
fallen  upon  the  soldiers.  It  is  possible  too,  and  not 
improbable,  that  the  stories  so  generally  believed  in 
Paris  that  large  batches  of  prisoners,  who  had  been 
arrested,  were  brought  out  of  prison  in  the  dead  hours 
of  the  night  and  deliberately  shot  by  bodies  of  soldiers, 
may  have  been  exaggerated  or  untrue.  Maupas,  who 
was  PrSfet  of  Police,  and  who  must  have  known  the 
truth,  positively  denied  it ;  but  the  question  what  cre- 
dence should  be  attached  to  a  man  of  his  antecedents 
who  boasted  that  he  had  been  from  the  first  a  leading 
agent  in  the  whole  conspiracy  may  be  reasonably  asked.1 

1  See  Maupas,  Mimoires  sur  arms  or  constructing  or  defend- 
le  Second  Empire,  i.  511,  512.  ing  a  barricade,  made  many 
It  is  said  that,  contrary  to  the  prisoners,  and  it  is  not  clear 
orders  of  St.-Arnaud,  the  sol-  what  became  of  them.  Granier 
diers,  instead  of  immediately  de  Cassagnac,  however,  alto- 
shooting  all  persons  in  the  gether  denies  the  executions  on 
street  who  were  found  with  the  Champ  de  Mars  (ii.  433). 


ANTECEDENTS  OF  THE  COUP  D'ETAT 


Evidence  of  these  things,  as  has  been  truly  said,  could 
scarcely  be  obtained,  for  the  press  was  absolutely  gagged 
and  all  possibility  of  investigation  was  prevented.  For 
the  number  of  those  who  were  transported  or  forcibly 
expelled  within  the  few  weeks  after  December  2,  we 
may  perhaps  rely  upon  the  historian  and  panegyrist 
of  the  Empire.  He  computes  them  at  the  enormous 
number  of  26,  500.  1  After  the  Plebiscite  new  measures 
of  proscription  were  taken,  and,  according  to  l£mile 
Ollivier,  one  of  the  most  enthusiastic  and  skilful  eulo- 
gists of  the  Coup  d'etat,  in  the  first  months  of  1852 
there  were  from  15,000  to  20,000  political  prisoners  in 
the  French  prisons.2  It  was  by  such  means  that  Louis 
Napoleon  attained  the  empire  which  had  been  the 
dream  of  his  life. 

Like  many,  however,  of  the  great  crimes  of  history, 
this  was  not  without  its  palliations,  and  a  more  detailed 
investigation  will  show  that  those  palliations  were  not 
inconsiderable.  Napoleon  had  been  elected  to  the  pre- 
sidency by  5,434,226  votes  out  of  7,317,344  which  were 
given,  and-  with  his  name,  his  antecedents,  and  his 
well-known  aspirations,  this  overwhelming  majority 
clearly  showed  what  were  the  real  wishes  of  the  people. 
His  power  rested  on  universal  suffrage  ;  it  was  inde- 
pendent of  the  Chamber.  It  gave  him  the  direction  of 
the  army,  though  he  could  not  command  it  in  person, 
and  from  the  very  beginning  he  assumed  an  indepen- 
dent and  almost  regal  position.  In  the  first  review 
that  took  place  after  his  election  he  was  greeted  by  the 
soldiers  with  cries  of  '  Vive  Napoleon  !  Vive  1'Em- 


1  Granier  de  Cassagnac,  ii.  438.       *  L1 'Empire  Liberal,  ii.  526. 


170  THE  MAP  OF 

pereur  ! '  It  was  soon  proved  that  the  Constitution  of 
1848  was  exceedingly  unworkable.  In  the  words  of 
Lord  Palmerston  :  '  There  were  two  great  powers,  each 
deriving  its  existence  from  the  same  source,  almost 
sure  to  disagree,  but  with  no  umpire  to  decide  between 
them,  and  neither  able  by  any  legal  means  to  get  rid 
of  the  other.'  The  President  could  not  dissolve  the 
Chamber,  but  he  could  impose  upon  it  any  ministry  he 
chose.  He  was  himself  elected  for  only  four  years,  and 
he  could  not  be  re-elected,  while  by  a  most  fatuous  pro- 
vision the  powers  of  the  President  and  the  Chamber 
were  to  expire  in  1852  at  the  same  time,  leaving  France 
without  a  government  and  exposed  to  the  gravest  dan- 
ger of  anarchy. 

The  Legislative  Assembly,  which  was  elected  in  May, 
1849,  was,  it  is  true,  far  from  being  a  revolutionary 
one.  It  contained  a  minority  of  desperate  Socialists,  it 
was  broken  into  many  factions,  and  like  most  demo- 
cratic French  Chambers  it  showed  much  weakness  and 
inconsistency  ;  but  the  vast  majority  of  its  members 
were  Conservatives  who  had  no  kind  of  sympathy  with 
revolution,  and  its  conduct  towards  the  Pre'sident,  if 
fairly  judged,  was  on  the  whole  very  moderate.  He 
soon  treated  it  with  contempt,  and  it  was  quite  evident 
that  there  was  no  national  enthusiasm  behind  it.  The 
Socialist  party  was  growing  rapidly  in  the  great  towns  ; 
in  June,  1849,  there  was  an  abortive  Socialist  insurrec- 
tion in  Paris,  and  a  somewhat  more  formidable  one  at 
Lyons.  They  were  easily  put  down,  but  the  Socialists 
captured  a  great  part  of  the  representation  of  Paris, 
and  they  succeeded  in  producing  a  wild  panic  through- 
out the  country.  It  led  to  several  reactionary  mea- 


ANTECEDENTS  OF  THE  COUP   D'ETAT 

sures,  the  most  important  being  a  law  which  by  im- 
posing new  conditions  of  residence  very  considerably 
limited  the  suffrage.  This  law  was  presented  to  the 
Chamber  by  the  Ministers  of  the  President  and  with 
his  assent,  though  he  subsequently  demanded  the  re- 
establishment  of  universal  suffrage,  and  made  a  decree 
effecting  this  one  of  the  chief  justifications  of  his  Coup 
d'etat.  The  restrictive  law  was  carried  through  the 
Chamber  on  May  31,  1850,  by  an  immense  majority, 
but  it  was  denounced  with  great  eloquence  by  some 
of  its  leading  members,  and  it  added  seriously  to  the 
unpopularity  of  the  Assembly,  and  greatly  lowered  its 
authority  in  contending  with  a  President  whose  autho- 
rity rested  on  direct  universal  suffrage.  More  than 
once  he  exercised  his  power  of  dismissing  and  appoint- 
ing ministries  absolutely  irrespective  of  its  votes  and 
wishes,  and  in  each  case  in  order  to  fill  all  posts  of 
power  with  creatures  of  his  own.  The  newspapers  sup- 
porting him  continually  inveighed  against  the  Cham- 
ber, and  dwelt  upon  the  danger  of  anarchy  to  which 
France  would  be  exposed  in  1852  and  upon  the  abso- 
lute necessity  of  'a  Saviour  of  Society.'  In  repeated 
journeys  through  France,  and  in  more  than  one  mili- 
tary review,  the  President  gave  the  occasion  of  demon- 
strations in  which  the  cries  of  '  Vive  PEmpereur  ! ' 
were  often  heard,  and  which  were  manifestly  intended 
to  strengthen  him  in  his  conflict  with  the  Chamber. 

The  man  from  whom  he  had  most  to  fear  was  Chan- 
garnier,  who  since  the  close  of  1848  had  been  commander 
of  the  troops  in  Paris,  and  whose  name,  though  far 
less  popular  than  that  of  Napoleon,  had  much  weight 
with  the  army.  He  was  a  man  with  strong  leanings  to 


172  THE 

authority,  and  was  much  courted  by  the  monarchical 
parties,  but  was  for  some  time  in  decided  sympathy 
with  Napoleon,  from  whom,  however,  in  spite  of  large 
offers  that  had  been  made  him,  he  gradually  diverged. 
He  issued  peremptory  orders  to  the  troops  under  his 
command,  forbidding  all  party  cries  at  reviews.  He 
declared  in  the  Chamber  that  these  cries  had  been  '  not 
only  encouraged  but  provoked,'  and  when  the  inten- 
tion of  the  President  to  prolong  his  presidency  became 
apparent,  he  assured  Odilon  Barrot  that  he  was  pre- 
pared, if  ordered  by  the  minister  and  authorised  by  the 
President  of  the  Chamber,  to  anticipate  the  Coup  d'etat 
by  seizing  and  imprisoning  Louis  Napoleon.1  The  Pre- 
sident succeeded  in  removing  him  from  his  command, 
and  in  placing  a  creature  of  his  own  at  the  head  of  the 
Paris  troops  ;  but  though  Changarnier  acquiesced  with- 
out resistance  in  his  dismissal,  he  remained  an  impor- 
tant member  of  the  Assembly  ;  he  openly  declared  that 
his  sword  was  at  its  service,  and  if  an  armed  conflict 
broke  out  it  was  tolerably  certain  that  he  would  be  its 
representative.  The  President  had  an  official  salary  of 
48,OOOZ. — nearly  five  times  as  much  as  the  President  of 
the  United  States.  The  Chamber  refused  to  increase 
it,  though  they  consented  by  a  very  small  majority,  and 
at  the  request  of  Changarnier,  to  pay  his  debts. 

The  demand  for  a  revision  of  the  Constitution,  mak- 
ing it  possible  for  the  President  to  be  re-elected,  was 
rising  rapidly  through  the  country,  and  there  can  be 
but  little  doubt  that  this  was  generally  looked  forward 
to  as  the  only  peaceful  solution,  and  that  it  represented 


1  M&moires  d'Odilon  Barrot,  iv.  59-61. 


ANTECEDENTS  OF  THE  COUP  D'ETAT  173 

the  real  wish  of  the  great  majority  of  the  people.  Pe- 
titions in  favour  of  it,  bearing  an  enormous  number  of 
signatures,  were  presented  to  the  Chamber,  and  the 
overwhelming  majority  of  the  Conseils  Generaux  of 
which  the  Deputies  generally  formed  part  voted  for  re- 
vision. The  President  did  not  so  much  petition  for  it 
as  demand  it.  In  a  message  he  sent  to  the  Chamber, 
he  declared  that  if  they  did  not  vote  Revision  the  peo- 
ple would,  in  1852,  solemnly  manifest  their  wishes. 
In  a  speech  at  Dijon,  June  1,  1851,  he  declared  that 
France  from  end  to  end  demanded  it ;  that  he  would 
follow  the  wishes  of  the  nation,  and  that  France  would 
not  perish  in  his  hands.  In  the  same  speech  he  ac- 
cused the  Chamber  of  never  seconding  his  wishes  to 
ameliorate  the  lot  of  the  people.  He  at  the  same  time 
lost  no  opportunity  of  showing  that  his  special  sympa- 
thy and  trust  lay  with  the  army,  and  he  singled  out 
with  marked  favour  the  colonels  of  the  regiments 
which  had  shown  themselves  at  the  reviews  most  pro- 
minent in  demonstrations  in  his  favour.1  The  mean- 
ing of  all  this  was  hardly  doubtful.  Changarnier  took 
up  the  gauntlet,  and  at  a  time  when  the  question  of 
Eevision  was  before  the  Chamber  he  declared  that  no 
soldier  would  ever  be  induced  to  move  against  the  law 
and  the  Assembly,  and  he  called  upon  the  Deputies  to 
deliberate  in  peace. 

The  Eevision  was  voted  in  the  Chamber  by  446  votes 
to  278,  but  a  majority  of  three-fourths  was  required 
for  a  constitutional  change,  and  this  majority  was  not 
obtained,  and  in  the  disintegrated  condition  of  French 


Memoires  d'Odilon  Barrot,  iv.  56,  57. 


174:  THE    MAP   OF   LIFE 

parties  it  seemed  scarcely  likely  to  be  obtained.  The 
Chamber  was  soon  after  prorogued  for  about  two 
months,  leaving  the  situation  unchanged,  and  the  ten- 
sion and  panic  were  extreme.  Out  of  eighty-five  Con- 
seils  Generaux  in  France,  eighty  passed  votes  in  favour 
of  Revision,  three  abstained,  two  only  opposed. 

The  President  had  now  fully  resolved  upon  a  coup 
d'etat,  and  before  the  Chamber  reassembled  a  new 
ministry  was  constituted,  St.-Arnaud  being  at  the  head 
of  the  army,  and  Maupas  at  the  head  of  the  police. 
His  first  step  was  to  summon  the  Chamber  to  repeal 
the  law  of  May  31  which  abolished  universal  suffrage. 
The  Chamber,  after  much  hesitation,  refused,  but  only 
by  two  votes.  The  belief  that  the  question  could  only 
be  solved  by  force  was  becoming  universal,  and  the 
bolder  spirits  in  the  Chamber  clearly  saw  that  if  no 
new  measure  was  taken  they  were  likely  to  be  helpless 
before  the  military  party.  By  a  decree  of  1848  the 
President  of  the  Chamber  had  a  right,  if  necessary,  to 
call  for  troops  for  its  protection  independently  of  the 
Minister  of  War,  and  a  motion  was  now  made  that  he 
should  be  able  to  select  a  general  to  whom  he  might 
delegate  this  power.  Such  a  measure,  dividing  the 
military  command  and  enabling  the  Chamber  to  have 
its  own  general  and  its  own  army,  might  have  proved 
very  efficacious,  but  it  would  probably  have  involved 
France  in  civil  war,  and  the  President  was  resolved 
that,  if  the  Chamber  voted  it,  the  Coup  d'etat  should 
immediately  take  place.  The  vote  was  taken  on  No- 
vember 17,  1851.  St.-Arnaud,  as  Minister  of  War,  op- 
posed the  measure  on  constitutional  grounds,  dilating 
on  the  danger  of  a  divided  military  command,  but  du- 


ANTECEDENTS  OF  THE  COUP  D'ETAT  175 

ring  the  discussion  Maupas  and  Magnan  were  in  the 
gallery  of  the  Chamber,  waiting  to  give  orders  to  St.- 
Arnaud  to  call  out  the  troops  and  to  surround  and  dis- 
solve the  Chamber  if  the  proposition  was  carried. 

It  was,  however,  rejected  by  a  majority  of  108,  and 
a  few  troubled  days  of  conspiracy  and  panic  still  re- 
mained before  the  blow  was  struck.  The  state  of  the 
public  securities  and  the  testimony  of  the  best  judges 
of  all  parties  showed  the  genuineness  of  the  alarm.  It 
was  not  true,  as  the  President  stated  in  the  proclama- 
tion issued  when  the  Coup  d'etat  was  accomplished, 
that  the  Chamber  had  become  a  mere  nest  of  conspira- 
cies, and  there  was  a  strange  audacity  in  his  assertion 
that  he  made  the  Coup  d'etat  for  the  purpose  of  main- 
taining the  Republic  against  monarchical  plots  ;  but  it 
was  quite  true  that  the  conviction  was  general  that 
force  had  become  inevitable  ;  that  the  chief  doubt  was 
whether  the  first  blow  would  be  struck  by  Napoleon  or 
Changarnier,  and  that  while  the  evident  desire  of  the 
majority  of  the  people  was  to  re-elect  Napoleon,  there 
was  a  design  among  some  members  of  the  Chamber  to 
seize  him  by  force  and  to  elect  in  his  place  some  mem- 
ber of  the  House  of  Orleans.1  On  December  2  the 
curtain  fell,  and  Napoleon  accompanied  his  Coup  d'etat 
by  a  decree  dissolving  the  Chamber,  restoring  by  his 
own  authority  universal  suffrage,  abolishing  the  law  of 


1  See  Lord  Palmerston's  state-  (Tocqueville's    Memoirs   (Eng. 

raents  on  this  subject  in  Ash-  trans.),  ii.  177).   Maupas,  in  his 

ley's  Life  of   Palmerston,    ii.  Memoires,  gives  a  very  detailed 

200-211.       Tocqueville,     how-  account  of  the  conspiracy  on 

ever,   utterly  denies  that    the  the  Bonapartist  side.  It  appears 

majority  of  the  Assembly  had  that  the  '  homme  de  confiance ' 

any  sympathy  with  these  views  of  Changarnier  was  in  his  pay. 


176  THE  MAP  °F  LIFE 

May  31,  establishing  a  state  of  siege,  and  calling  on  the 
French  people  to  judge  his  action  by  their  vote. 

It  was  certainly  not  an  appeal  upon  which  great  con- 
fidence could  be  placed.  Immediately  after  the  Coup 
(Tetaty  the  army,  which  was  wholly  on  his  side,  voted 
separately  and  openly  in  order  that  France  might  clearly 
know  that  the  armed  forces  were  with  the  President 
and  might  be  able  to  predict  the  consequences  of  a  ver- 
dict unfavourable  to  his  pretensions.  When,  nearly 
three  weeks  later,  the  civilian  Plebiscite  took  place, 
martial  law  was  in  force.  Public  meetings  of  every  kind 
were  forbidden.  No  newspaper  hostile  to  the  new  au- 
thority was  permitted.  No  electioneering  paper  or  pla- 
card could  be  circulated  which  had  not  been  sanctioned 
by  Government  officials.  The  terrible  decree  that  all 
who  had  ever  belonged  to  a  secret  society  might  be  sent 
to  die  in  the  fevers  of  Africa  was  interpreted  in  the 
widest  sense,  and  every  political  society  or  organisation 
was  included  in  it.  All  the  functionaries  of  a  highly 
centralised  country  were  turned  into  ardent  electioneer- 
ing agents,  and  the  question  was  so  put  that  the  voters 
had  no  alternative  except  for  or  against  the  President,  a 
negative  vote  leaving  the  country  with  no  government 
and  an  almost  certain  prospect  of  anarchy  and  civil 
war.  Under  these  circumstances  7,500,000  votes  were 
given  for  the  President  and  500,000  against  him. 

But  after  all  deductions  have  been  made  there  can 
be  no  real  doubt  that  the  majority  of  Frenchmen  ac- 
quiesced in  the  new  regime.  The  terror  of  Socialism 
was  abroad,  and  it  brought  with  it  an  ardent  desire  for 
strong  government.  The  probabilities  of  a  period  of 
sanguinary  anarchy  were  so  great  that  multitudes  were 


RECEPTION  OF  THE  COUP  D'ETAT  177 

glad  to  be  secured  from  it  at  almost  any  cost.  Parlia- 
mentarism was  profoundly  discredited.  The  peasant 
proprietary  had  never  cared  for  it,  and  the  bourgeois 
class,  among  whom  it  had  once  been  popular,  were  now 
thoroughly  scared.  Nothing  in  the  contemporary  ac- 
counts of  the  period  is  more  striking  than  the  indiffer- 
ence, the  almost  amused  cynicism,  or  the  sense  of  relief 
with  which  the  great  mass  of  Frenchmen  seem  to  have 
witnessed  the  destruction  of  their  Constitution  and  the 
gross  insults  inflicted  upon  a  Chamber  which  included 
so  many  of  the  most  illustrious  of  their  countrymen. 

We  can  hardly  have  a  better  authority  on  this  point 
than  Tocqueville.  No  one  felt  more  profoundly  or 
more  bitterly  the  iniquity  of  what  had  been  done  ;  but 
he  was  under  no  illusion  about  the  sentiments  of  the 
people.  The  Constitution,  he  says,  was  thoroughly  un- 
popular. '  Louis  Napoleon  had  the  merit  or  the  luck 
to  discover  what  few  suspected — the  latent  Bonapart- 
ism  of  the  nation.  .  .  .  The  memory  of  the  Emperor, 
vague  and  undefined,  but  therefore  the  more  imposing, 
still  dwelt  like  an  heroic  legend  in  the  imaginations 
of  the  people.'  All  the  educated,  in  the  opinion  of 
Tocqueville,  condemned  and  repudiated  the  Coup 
cTetat.  '  Thirty-seven  years  of  liberty  have  made  a  free 
press  and  free  parliamentary  discussion  necessary  to  us. ' 
But  the  bulk  of  the  nation  was  not  with  them.  The 
new  Government,  he  predicted,  'will  last  until  it  is 
unpopular  with  the  mass  of  the  people.  At  present 
the  disapprobation  is  confined  to  the  educated  classes.' 
'  The  reaction  against  democracy  and  even  against  li- 
berty is  irresistible. ' 1 

12  *  Tocqueville's  Memoirs,  ii. 


178  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

There  is  no  doubt  some  exaggeration  on  both  sides  of 
this  statement.  The  appalling  magnitude  of  the  de- 
portations and  imprisonments  by  the  new  Government 
seems  to  show  that  the  hatred  went  deeper  than  Tocque- 
ville  supposed,  and  on  the  other  hand  it  can  hardly 
be  said  that  the  educated  classes  wholly  repudiated 
what  had  been  done  when  we  remember  that  the 
French  Funds  at  once  rose  from  91  to  102,  that  nearly 
all  branches  of  French  commerce  made  a  similar 
spring,1  that  some  twenty  generals  were  actively  en- 
gaged in  the  conspiracy,  and  that  the  great  body  of  the 
priests  were  delighted  at  its  success.  The  truth  seems 
to  be  that  the  property  of  France  saw  in  the  success  of 
the  Coup  d'etat  an  escape  from  a  great  danger,  while 
two  powerful  professions,  the  army  and  the  Church, 
were  strongly  in  favour  of  the  President.  Over  the 
army  the  name  of  Napoleon  exercised  a  magical  influ- 
ence, and  the  expedition  to  Rome  and  the  probability 
that  the  new  government  would  be  under  clerical 
guidance  were,  in  the  eyes  of  the  Church  party,  quite 
sufficient  to  justify  what  had  been  done. 

Nothing,  indeed,  in  this  strange  history  is  more  sig- 
nificant than  the  attitude  assumed  by  the  special  lead- 
ers and  representatives  of  the  Church  which  teaches 
that  '  it  were  better  for  the  sun  and  moon  to  drop  from 
heaven,  for  the  earth  to  fail,  and  for  all  of  the  many 
millions  upon  it  to  die  of  starvation  in  extremest  agony, 
BO  far  as  temporal  affliction  goes,  than  that  one  soul 
.  .  .  should  commit  one  venial  sin,  should  tell  one 
wilful  untruth/2 


1  Ashley's  Life  of  Palmertton,  ii.  208.  *  Newman. 


THE  CHURCH  AND  THE  COUP  D'ETAT 

Three  illustrious  churchmen  —  Lacordaire,  Ra- 
vignan  and  Dupanloup — to  their  immortal  honour 
refused  to  give  any  approbation  to  the  Coup  d'etat  or 
to  express  any  confidence  in  its  author.  But  the  latest 
panegyrist  of  the  Empire  boasts  that  they  were  almost 
alone  in  their  profession.  By  the  advice  of  the  Papal 
Nuncio  and  of  the  leading  French  bishops,  the  clergy 
lost  no  time  in  presenting  their  felicitations.  Veuillot, 
who  more  than  any  other  man  represented  and  influ- 
enced the  vast  majority  of  the  French  priesthood, 
wrote  on  what  had  been  done  with  undisguised  and 
unqualified  exultation  and  delight.  Even  Montalem- 
bert  rallied  to  the  Government  on  the  morrow  of  the 
Coup  d'etat.  He  described  Louis  Napoleon  as  a  Prince 
'who  had  shown  a  more  efficacious  and  intelligent 
devotion  to  religious  interests  than  any  of  those  who 
had  governed  France  during  sixty  years  ;'  and  it  was 
universally  admitted  that  the  great  body  of  the  clergy, 
with  Archbishop  Sibour  at  their  head,  were  in  this 
critical  moment  ardent  supporters  of  the  new  govern- 
ment.1 Kinglake,  in  a  page  of  immortal  beauty,  has 
described  the  scene  when,  thirty  days  after  the  Coup 
d'etat,  Louis  Napoleon  appeared  in  Notre  Dame  to 
receive,  amid  all  the  pomp  that  Catholic  ceremonial 
could  give,  the  solemn  blessing  of  the  Church,  and  to 
listen  to  the  Te  Deum  thanking  the  Almighty  for  what 
had  been  accomplished.  The  time  came,  it  is  true, 
when  the  policy  of  the  priests  was  changed,  for  they 
found  that  Louis  Napoleon  was  more  liberal  and  less 
clerical  than  they  imagined ;  but  in  estimating  the 


1  See  Ollivier,  ISEmpire  Liberal,  i.  510-612. 


180  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

feelings  with  which  French  Liberals  judge  the  Church, 
its  attitude  towards  the  perjury  and  violence  of  Decem- 
ber 2  should  never  be  forgotten. 

To  those  who  judge  the  political  ethics  of  the 
Eoman  Catholic  Church  not  from  the  deceptive  pages 
of  such  writers  as  Newman,  but  from  an  examination 
of  its  actual  conduct  in  the  different  periods  of  its  his- 
tory, it  will  appear  in  no  degree  inconsistent.  It  is 
but  another  instance  added  to  many  of  the  manner  in 
which  it  regards  all  acts  which  appear  conducive  to 
its  interests.  It  was  the  same  spirit  that  led  a  Pope 
to  offer  public  thanks  for  the  massacre  of  St.  Bartho- 
lomew, and  to  order  Vasarf  to  paint  the  murder  of 
Coligny  on  the  walls  of  the  Vatican  among  the  tri- 
umphs of  the  Church.  No  Christian  sovereign  of 
modern  times  has  left  a  worse  memory  behind  him 
than  Ferdinand  II.  of  Naples,  who  received  the  Pope 
when  he  fled  to  Gaeta  in  1848.  He  was  the  sovereign 
whose  government  was  described  by  Gladstone  as  '  a 
negation  of  God.'  He  not  only  destroyed  the  Consti- 
tution he  had  sworn  to  observe,  but  threw  into  a 
loathsome  dungeon  the  Liberal  ministers  who  had 
trusted  him.  But  in  the  eyes  of  the  Pope  his  services 
to  the  Church  far  outweighed  all  defects,  and  the 
monument  erected  to  this  '  most  pious  prince '  may  be 
seen  in  one  of  the  chapels  of  St.  Peter's.  Every 
visitor  to  Paris  may  see  the  fresco  in  the  Madeleine  in 
which  Napoleon  I.  appears  seated  triumphant  on  the 
clouds  and  surrounded  by  an  admiring  priesthood,  the 
most  prominent  and  glorified  figure  in  a  picture  repre- 
senting the  history  of  French  Christianity,  with  Christ 
above,  blessing  the  work. 


OPINIONS  ABOUT  THE  COUP  D'ETAT 


It  is  indeed  a  most  significant  fact  that  in  Catholic 
countries  the  highest  moral  level  in  public  life  is  now 
rarely  to  be  found  among  those  who  specially  repre- 
sent the  spirit  and  teaching  of  their  Church,  and 
much  more  frequently  among  men  who  are  uncon- 
nected with  it,  and  often  with  all  dogmatic  theology. 
How  seldom  has  the  distinctively  Catholic  press  seri- 
ously censured  unjust  wars,  unscrupulous  alliances, 
violations  of  constitutional  obligations,  unprovoked 
aggressions,  great  outbursts  of  intolerance  and  fanati- 
cism !  It  is,  indeed,  not  too  much  to  say  that  some  of 
the  worst  moral  perversions  of  modern  times  have  been 
supported  and  stimulated  by  a  great  body  of  genuinely 
Catholic  opinion  both  in  the  priesthood  and  in  the 
press.  The  anti-Semite  movement,  the  shameful  in- 
difference to  justice  shown  in  France  in  the  Dreyfus 
case,  and  the  countless  frauds,  outrages  and  oppres- 
sions that  accompanied  the  domination  of  the  Irish 
Land  League  are  recent  and  conspicuous  examples. 

Among  secular-minded  laymen  the  Coup  d'etat  of 
Louis  Napoleon  was,  as  I  have  said,  differently  judged. 
Few  things  in  French  history  are  more  honourable  than 
the  determination  with  which  so  many  men  who  were 
the  very  flower  of  the  French  nation  refused  to  take 
the  oath  or  give  their  adhesion  to  the  new  Govern- 
ment. Great  statesmen  and  a  few  distinguished  sol- 
diers, with  a  splendid  past  behind  them  and  with  the 
prospect  of  an  illustrious  career  before  them  ;  men  of 
genius  who  in  their  professorial  chairs  had  been  the 
centres  of  the  intellectual  life  of  France  ;  functionaries 
who  had  by  laborious  and  persevering  industry  climbed 
the  steps  of  their  profession  and  depended  for  their 


152  THE  MAP  OF 

livelihood  on  its  emoluments,  accepted  poverty,  exile 
and  the  long  eclipse  of  the  most  honourable  ambitions 
rather  than  take  an  oath  which  seemed  to  justify  the 
usurpation.  At  the  same  time,  some  statesmen  of  un- 
questionable honour  did  not  wholly  and  in  all  its  parts 
condemn  it.  Lord  Palmerston  was  conspicuous  among 
them.  Without  expressing  approval  of  all  that  had 
been  done,  he  always  maintained  that  the  condition  of 
France  was  such  that  a  violent  subversion  of  an  un- 
workable Constitution  and  the  establishment  of  a  strong 
government  had  become  absolutely  necessary  ;  that  the 
Coup  d'etat  saved  France  from  the  gravest  and  most 
imminent  danger  of  anarchy  and  civil  war,  and  that 
this  fact  was  its  justification.  If  it  had  not  been  for  the 
acts  of  ferocious  tyranny  which  immediately  followed 
it,  his  opinion  would  have  been  more  largely  shared. 

It  is  probable  that  the  moral  character  of  coups 
d'etat  may  in  the  future  not  unfrequently  come  into 
discussion  in  Europe,  as  it  has  often  done  in  South 
America.  As  the  best  observers  are  more  and  more 
perceiving,  parliamentary  government  worked  upon 
party  lines  is  by  no  means  an  easy  thing,  and  it  seldom 
attains  perfection  without  long  experience  and  without 
qualities  of  mind  and  character  which  are  very  un- 
equally distributed  among  the  nations  of  the  world. 
It  requires  a  spirit  of  compromise,  patience  and  moder- 
ation ;  the  kind  of  mind  which  can  distinguish  the 
solid,  the  practical  and  the  well  meaning,  from  the 
brilliant,  the  plausible  and  the  ambitious,  which  cares 
more  for  useful  results  and  for  the  conciliation  of  many 
interests  and  opinions  than  for  any  rigid  uniformity 
and  consistency  of  principle ;  which,  while  pursuing 


MORAL  CHARACTER  OF  COUPS  D'ETAT  183 

personal  ambitions  and  party  aims,  can  subordinate 
them  on  great  occasions  to  public  interests.  It  needs 
a  combination  of  independence  and  discipline  which  is 
not  common,  and  where  it  does  not  exist  parliaments 
speedily  degenerate  either  into  an  assemblage  of  pup- 
pets in  the  hands  of  party  leaders  or  into  disintegrated, 
demoralised,  insubordinate  groups.  Some  of  the  fore- 
most nations  of  the  world — nations  distinguished  for 
noble  and  brilliant  intellect ;  for  splendid  heroism ; 
for  great  achievements  in  peace  and  war — have  in  this 
form  of  government  conspicuously  failed.  In  England 
it  has  grown  with  our  growth  and  strengthened  with 
our  strength.  We  have  practised  it  in  many  phases. 
Its  traditions  have  taken  deep  root  and  are  in  full 
harmony  with  the  national  character.  But  in  the 
present  century  this  kind  of  government  has  been 
adopted  by  many  nations  which  are  wholly  unfit  for  it, 
and  they  have  usually  adopted  it  in  the  most  difficult 
of  all  forms — that  of  an  uncontrolled  democracy  rest- 
ing upon  universal  suffrage.  It  is  becoming  very  evi- 
dent that  in  many  countries  such  assemblies  are  wholly 
incompetent  to  take  the  foremost  place  in  government, 
but  they  are  so  fenced  round  by  oaths  and  other  con- 
stitutional forms  that  nothing  short  of  violence  can 
take  from  them  a  power  which  they  are  never  likely 
voluntarily  to  relinquish.  In  such  countries  democracy 
tends  much  less  naturally  to  the  parliamentary  system 
than  to  some  form  of  dictatorship,  to  some  despotism 
resting  on  and  justified  by  a  plebiscite.  It  is  probable 
that  many  transitions  in  this  direction  will  take  place. 
They  will  seldom  be  carried  out  through  purely  public 
motives  or  without  perjury  and  violence.  But  public 


THE  MAP  °F  LIFE 


opinion  will  judge  each  case  on  its  own  merits,  and 
where  it  can  be  shown  that  its  results  are  beneficial 
and  that  large  sections  of  the  people  have  desired  it, 
such  an  act  will  not  be  severely  condemned. 

Cases  of  conflicting  ethical  judgments  of  another 
kind  may  be  easily  cited.  One  of  the  best  known  was 
that  of  Governor  Eyre  at  the  time  of  the  Jamaica 
insurrection  of  1865.  In  this  case  there  was  no  ques- 
tion of  personal  interest  or  ambition.  The  Governor 
was  a  man  of  stainless  honour,  who  in  a  moment  of 
extreme  difficulty  and  danger  had  rendered  a  great 
service  to  his  country.  By  his  prompt  and  courageous 
action  a  negro  insurrection  was  quickly  suppressed, 
which,  if  it  had  been  allowed  to  extend,  must  have 
brought  untold  horrors  upon  Jamaica.  But  the 
martial  law  which  he  had  proclaimed  was  certainly 
continued  longer  than  was  necessary,  it  was  exercised 
with  excessive  severity,  and  those  who  were  tried 
under  it  were  not  merely  men  who  had  been  taken 
in  arms.  One  conspicuous  civilian  agitator,  who  had 
contributed  greatly  to  stimulate  the  insurrection,  and 
had  been,  in  the  opinion  of  the  Governor,  its  '  chief 
cause  and  origin/  but  who,  like  most  men  of  his  kind, 
had  merely  incited  others  without  taking  any  direct 
part  himself,  was  arrested  in  a  part  of  the  island  in 
which  martial  law  was  not  proclaimed,  and  was  tried 
and  hanged  by  orders  of  a  military  tribunal  in  a  way 
which  the  best  legal  authorities  in  England  pronounced 
wholly  unwarranted  by  law.  If  this  act  had  been 
considered  apart  from  the  general  conditions  of  the 
island  it  would  have  deserved  severe  punishment.  If 
the  services  of  the  Governor  had  been  considered  apart 


GOVERNOR  EYRE  185 

from  this  act  they  would  have  deserved  high  honours 
from  the  Crown.  In  Jamaica  the  Governor  was  fully 
supported  by  the  Legislative  Council  and  the  Assem- 
bly, but  at  home  public  opinion  was  fiercely  divided, 
and  the  fact  that  the  chief  literary  and  scientific  men 
in  England  took  sides  on  the  question  added  greatly  to 
its  interest.  Carlyle  took  a  leading  part  in  the  defence 
of  Governor  Eyre.  John  Stuart  Mill  was  the  chairman 
of  a  committee  who  regarded  him  as  a  simple  crimi- 
nal, and  who  for  more  than  two  years  pursued  him 
with  a  persistent  vindictiveness.  As  might  have  been 
expected  the  one  side  dwelt  solely  on  his  services  and 
the  other  side  on  his  misdeeds.  Governor  Eyre  received 
no  reward  for  the  great  service  he  had  rendered,  and  he 
was  involved  by  his  enemies  in  a  ruinous  legal  expendi- 
ture, which,  however,  was  subsequently  paid  by  the 
Government ;  but  those  who  desired  to  bring  him  to 
trial  for  murder  were  baffled,  for  the  Old  Bailey  Grand 
Jury  threw  out  the  bill.  Public  opinion,  I  think,  on 
the  whole,  approved  of  what  they  had  done.  Most 
moderate  men  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  Gov- 
ernor Eyre  was  a  brave  and  honourable  man  who  had 
rendered  great  services  to  the  State  and  had  saved 
countless  lives,  but  who,  through  no  unworthy  motive 
and  in  a  time  of  extreme  danger  and  panic,  had  com- 
mitted a  serious  mistake  which  had  been  very  amply 
expiated. 

The  more  recent  events  connected  with  the  Jameson 
raid  into  the  Transvaal  may  also  be  cited.  Of  the 
raid  itself  there  is  little  to  be  said.  It  was,  in  truth, 
one  of  the  most  discreditable  as  well  as  mischievous 
events  in  recent  colonial  history,  and  its  character  was 


186  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

entirely  unrelieved  by  any  gleam  either  of  heroism  or 
of  skill.  Those  who  took  a  direct  part  in  it  were  duly 
tried  and  duly  punished.  A  section  of  English  society 
adopted  on  this  question  a  disgraceful  attitude,  but  it 
must  at  least  be  said  in  palliation  that  they  had 
been  grossly  deceived,  one  of  the  chief  and  usually 
most  trustworthy  organs  of  opinion  having  been  made 
use  of  as  an  organ  of  the  conspirators. 

A  more  difficult  question  arose  in  the  case  of  the 
statesman  who  had  prepared  and  organized  the  expe- 
dition against  the  Transvaal.  It  is  certain  that  the 
actual  raid  had  taken  place  without  his  knowledge  or 
consent,  though  when  it  was  brought  to  his  knowledge 
he  abstained  from  taking  any  step  to  stop  it.  It 
may  be  conceded  also  that  there  were  real  grievances 
to  be  complained  of.  By  a  strange  irony  of  fate  some 
of  the  largest  gold  mines  of  the  world  had  fallen  to 
the  possession  of  perhaps  the  only  people  who  did  not 
desire  them  ;  of  a  race  of  hunters  and  farmers  in- 
tensely hostile  to  modern  ideas,  who  had  twice  aban- 
doned their  homes  and  made  long  journeys  into  distant 
lands  in  search  of  solitude  and  space  and  of  a  home 
where  they  could  live  their  primitive,  pastoral  lives, 
undisturbed  by  any  foreign  element.  These  men  now 
found  their  country  the  centre  of  a  vast  stream  of 
foreign  immigration,  and  of  that  most  undesirable 
kind  of  immigration  which  gold  mines  invariably 
promote.  Their  laws  were  very  backward,  but  the 
part  which  was  most  oppressive  was  that  connected 
with  the  gold-mining  industry  which  was  almost 
entirely  in  the  hands  of  the  immigrants,  and  it  was 
this  which  made  it  a  main  object  to  overthrow  their 


THE  JAMESON  RAID  187 

government.  The  trail  of  finance  runs  over  the  whole 
story,  but  it  may  be  acknowledged  that,  although  Mr. 
Ehodes  had  made  an  enormous  fortune  by  mining 
speculations,  and  although  he  was  largely  interested 
as  a  financier  in  overturning  the  system  of  govern- 
ment at  Johannesburg,  he  was  not  a  man  likely  to  be 
actuated  by  mere  love  of  money,  and  that  political 
ambition  closely  connected  with  the  opening  and  the 
civilisation  of  Africa  largely  actuated  him.  Whether 
the  motives  of  his  co-conspirators  were  of  the  same 
kind  may  be  open  to  question.  "What,  however,  he 
did  has  been  very  clearly  established.  When  holding 
the  highly  confidential  position  of  Prime  Minister  of 
the  Cape  Colony,  and  being  at  the  same  time  a  Privy 
Councillor  of  the  Queen,  he  engaged  in  a  conspiracy 
for  the  overthrow  of  the  government  of  a  neighbour- 
ing and  friendly  State.  In  order  to  carry  out  this 
design  he  deceived  the  High  Commissioner  whose 
Prime  Minister  he  was.  He  deceived  his  own 
colleagues  in  the  Ministry.  He  collected  under 
false  pretences  a  force  which  was  intended  to  co- 
operate with  an  insurrection  in  Johannesburg.  Being 
a  Director  of  the  Chartered  Company  he  made  use  of 
that  position,  without  the  knowledge  of  his  colleagues, 
to  further  the  conspiracy.  He  took  an  active  and 
secret  part  in  smuggling  great  quantities  of  arms  into 
the  Transvaal,  which  were  intended  to  be  used  in  the 
rebellion  ;  and  at  a  time  when  his  organs  in  the  press 
were  representing  Johannesburg  as  seething  with 
spontaneous  indignation  against  an  oppressive  govern- 
ment, he,  with  another  millionaire,  was  secretly  ex- 
pending many  thousands  of  pounds  in  that  town  in 


188  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

stimulating  and  subsidising  the  rising.  He  was  also 
directly  connected  with  the  shabbiest  incident  in  the 
whole  affair,  the  concoction  of  a  letter  from  the  Jo- 
hannesburg conspirators  absurdly  representing  Eng- 
lish women  and  children  at  Johannesburg  as  in  dan- 
ger of  being  shot  down  by  the  Boers,  and  urging  the 
British  to  come  at  once  to  save  them.  It  was  a  letter 
drawn  up  with  the  sanction  of  Mr.  Khodes  many 
weeks  before  the  raid,  and  before  any  disturbance  had 
arisen,  and  kept  in  reserve  to  be  dated  and  used  in  the 
last  moment  for  the  purpose  of  inducing  the  young 
soldiers  in  South  Africa  to  join  in  the  raid,  and  of 
subsequently  justifying  their  conduct  before  the  War 
Office,  and  also  for  the  purpose  of  being  published  in 
the  English  press  at  the  same  time  as  the  first  news 
of  the  raid,  in  order  to  work  upon  English  public 
opinion  and  persuade  the  English  people  that  the  raid, 
though  technically  wrong,  was  morally  justifiable.1 

Mr.  Rhodes  is  a  man  of  great  genius  and  influence, 
and  in  the  past  he  has  rendered  great  services  to  the 
Empire.  At  the  same  time  no  reasonable  judge  can 
question  that  in  these  transactions  he  was  more  bla- 
mable  than  those  who  were  actually  punished  by  the 
law  for  taking  part  in  the  raid — far  more  blamable 
than  those  young  officers  who  were,  in  truth,  the 
most  severely  punished,  and  who  had  been  induced  to 
take  part  in  it  under  a  false  representation  of  the  wishes 
of  the  Government  at  home,  and  a  grossly  false  repre- 
sentation of  the  state  of  things  at  Johannesburg. 


1  Second  Report  of  the  Select  Committee  on  British  South 
Africa  (July,  1897). 


CENSURE  OF  MR.  RHODES  189 

The  failure  of  the  raid,  and  his  undoubted  complicity 
with  its  design,  obliged  Mr.  Ehodes  to  resign  the 
post  of  Prime  Minister  and  his  directorship  of  the 
Chartered  Company,  and,  for  a  time  at  least,  eclipsed 
his  influence  in  Africa  ;  but  the  question  confronted 
the  Ministers  whether  these  resignations  alone  consti- 
tuted a  sufficient  punishment  for  what  he  had  done. 

The  question  was  indeed  one  of  great  difficulty. 
The  Government,  in  my  opinion,  were  right  in  not 
attempting  a  prosecution  which,  in  the  face  of  the 
fact  that  the  actual  raid  had  certainly  been  undertaken 
without  the  knowledge  of  Mr.  Rhodes,  and  that  the 
evidence  against  him  was  chiefly  drawn  from  his  own 
voluntary  admissions  before  the  committee  of  inquiry, 
would  inevitably  have  proved  abortive.  They  were, 
perhaps,  right  in  not  taking  from  him  the  dignity  of 
Privy  Councillor,  which  had  been  bestowed  on  him  as 
a  reward  for  great  services  in  the  past,  and  which  had 
never  in  the  present  reign  been  taken  from  anyone 
on  whom  it  had  been  bestowed.  They  were  right  also, 
I  believe,  in  urging  that  after  a  long  and  elaborate 
inquiry  into  the  circumstances  of  the  raid,  and  after  a 
report  in  which  Mr.  Rhodes's  conduct  had  been  fully 
examined  and  severely  censured,  it  was  most  impor- 
tant for  the  peace  and  good  government  of  South 
Africa  that  the  matter  should  as  soon  as  possible  be 
allowed  to  drop,  and  the  raid  and  the  party  animosi- 
ties it  had  aroused  to  subside.  But  what  can  be 
thought  of  the  language  of  a  Minister  who  volunteered 
to  assure  the  House  of  Commons  that  in  all  the 
transactions  I  have  described,  Mr.  Rhodes,  though  he 
had  made  '  a  gigantic  mistake,'  a  mistake  perhaps  as 


190  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

great  as  a  statesman  could  make,  had  done  nothing 
affecting  his  personal  honour  ? l 

The  foregoing  examples  will  serve  to  illustrate  the 
kind  of  difficulty  which  every  statesman  has  to  en- 
counter in  dealing  with  political  misdeeds,  and  the 
impossibility  of  treating  them  by  the  clearly  defined 
lines  and  standards  that  are  applicable  to  the  morals 
of  a  private  life.  Whatever  conclusions  men  may 
arrive  at  in  the  seclusion  of  their  studies,  when  they 
take  part  in  active  political  life  they  will  find  it  neces- 
sary to  make  large  allowances  for  motives,  tendencies, 
past  services,  pressing  dangers,  overwhelming  expedi- 
encies, opposing  interests.  Every  statesman  who  is 
worthy  of  the  name  has  a  strong  predisposition  to  sup- 
port the  public  servants  who  are  under  him  when  he 
knows  that  they  have  acted  with  a  sincere  desire  to 
benefit  the  Empire.  This  is,  indeed,  a  characteristic 
of  all  really  great  statesmen,  and  it  gives  a  confidence 
and  energy  to  the  public  service  which  in  times  of  dif- 
ficulty and  danger  are  of  supreme  importance.  In  such 
times  a  mistaken  decision  is  usually  a  less  evil  than 
timid,  vacillating,  or  procrastinated  action,  and  a  wise 
Minister  will  go  far  to  defend  his  subordinates  if  they 
have  acted  promptly  and  with  substantial  justice  in 
the  way  they  believed  to  be  best,  even  though  they 
may  have  made  considerable  mistakes,  and  though  the 
results  of  their  action  may  have  proved  unfortunate. 

But  of  all  forms  of  prestige,  moral  prestige  is  the 
most  valuable,  and  no  statesman  should  forget  that  one 
of  the  chief  elements  of  British  power  is  the  moral 


1  Parliamentary,  Debates,  July  26,  1897,  1169,  1170. 


IMPORTANCE  OF  MORAL  PRESTIGE 

weight  that  is  behind  it.  It  is  the t conviction  that 
British  policy  is  essentially  honourable  and  straight- 
forward, that  the  word  and  honour  of  its  statesmen  and 
diplomatists  may  be  implicitly  trusted,  and  that  in- 
trigues and  deceptions  are  wholly  alien  to  their  nature. 
The  statesman  must  steer  his  way  between  rival  fa- 
naticisms— the  fanaticism  of  those  who  pardon  every- 
thing if  it  is  crowned  by  success  and  conduces  to  the 
greatness  of  the  Empire,  and  who  act  as  if  weak 
Powers  and  savage  nations  had  no  moral  rights  ;  and 
the  fanaticism  of  those  who  always  seem  to  have  a 
leaning  against  their  own  country,  and  who  imagine 
that  in  times  of  war,  anarchy,  or  rebellion,  and  in 
dealings  with  savage  or  half-savage  military  popula- 
tions, it  is  possible  to  act  with  the  same  respect  for  the 
technicalities  of  law,  and  the  same  invariably  high 
standard  of  moral  scrupulousness,  as  in  a  peaceful  age 
and  a  highly  civilised  country.  In  the  affairs  of  private 
life  the  distinction  between  right  and  wrong  is  usually 
very  clear,  but  it  is  not  so  in  public  affairs.  Even  the 
moral  aspects  of  political  acts  can  seldom  be  rightly 
estimated  without  the  exercise  of  a  large,  judicial,  and 
comprehensive  judgment,  and  the  spirit  which  should 
actuate  a  statesman  should  be  rather  that  of  a  high- 
minded  and  honourable  man  of  the  world  than  that 
of  a  theologian,  or  a  lawyer,  or  an  abstract  moralist. 

In  some  respects  the  standard  of  political  morality 
has  undoubtedly  risen  in  modern  times ;  but  it  is  by 
no  means  certain  that  in  international  politics  this  is 
the  case.  A  true  history  of  the  wars  of  the  last  half 
of  the  nineteenth  century  may  well  lead  us  to  doubt 
it,  and  recent  disclosures  have  shown  us  that  in  the 


192  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

most  terrible  of  them — the  Franco-German  "War  of 
1870 — the  blame  must  be  much  more  equally  divided 
than  we  had  been  accustomed  to  believe.  Very  few 
massacres  in  history  have  been  more  gigantic  or  more 
clearly  traced  to  the  action  of  a  government  than 
those  perpetrated  by  Turkish  soldiers  in  our  genera- 
tion, and  few  signs  of  the  low  level  of  public  feeling 
in  Christendom  are  more  impressive  than  the  general 
indifference  with  which  these  massacres  were  contem- 
plated in  most  countries.  It  was  made  evident  that  a 
Power  which  retains  its  military  strength,  and  which 
is  therefore  sought  as  an  ally  and  feared  as  an  enemy, 
may  do  things  with  impunity,  and  even  with  very  little 
censure,  which  in  the  case  of  a  weak  nation  would  pro- 
duce a  swift  retribution.  Among  the  minor  episodes 
of  nineteenth-century  history  the  historian  will  not 
forget  how  soon  after  the  savage  Armenian  massacres 
the  sovereign  of  one  of  the  greatest  and  most  civilised 
of  Christian  nations  hastened  to  Constantinople  to 
clasp  the  hand  which  was  so  deeply  dyed  with  Chris- 
tian blood,  and  then,  having,  as  he  thought,  suffi- 
ciently strengthened  his  popularity  and  influence  in 
that  quarter,  proceeded  to  the  Mount  of  Olives,  where, 
amid  scenes  that  are  consecrated  by  the  most  sacred  of 
all  memories,  and  most  fitted  to  humble  the  pride  of 
power  and  dispel  the  dreams  of  ambition,  he  pro- 
claimed himself  with  melodramatic  piety  the  cham- 
pion and  the  patron  of  the  Christian  faith  !  Plow- 
many  instances  may  be  culled  from  very  modern  hisv 
tory  of  the  deliberate  falsehood  of  statesmen  ;  of  dis- 
tinct treaty  engagements  and  obligations  simply  set 
aside  because  they  were  inconvenient  to  one  Power, 


LOW  STANDARD  OF  INTERNATIONAL  POLICY 

and  could  be  repudiated  with  impunity ;  of  weak  na- 
tions annexed  or  plundered  without  a  semblance  of 
real  provocation  !  The  safety  of  the  weak  in  the  pre- 
sence of  the  strong  is  the  best  test  of  international 
morality.  Can  it  be  said  that,  if  measured  by  this  test, 
the  public  morality  of  our  time  ranks  very  high  ?  No 
one  can  fail  to  notice  with  what  levity  the  causes  of 
war  with  barbarous  or  semi-civilised  nations  are  scru- 
tinised if  only  those  wars  are  crowned  with  success ; 
how  strongly  the  present  commercial  policy  of  Europe 
is  stimulating  the  passion  for  aggression  ;  how  warmly 
that  policy  is  in  all  great  nations  supported  by  public 
opinion  and  by  the  Press. 

The  questions  of  morality  arising  out  of  these  things 
are  many  and  complicated,  and  they  cannot  be  dis- 
posed of  by  short  and  simple  formulae.  How  far  is  a 
statesman  who  sees,  or  thinks  he  sees,  some  crushing 
danger  from  an  aggressive  foreign  Power  impending 
over  his  country,  justified  in  anticipating  that  danger, 
and  at  a  convenient  moment  and  without  any  imme- 
diate provocation  forcing  on  a  war  ?  How  far  is  it  his 
right  or  his  duty  to  sacrifice  the  lives  of  his  people 
through  humanitarian  motives,  for  the  redress  of  some 
flagrant  wrong  with  which  he  is  under  no  treaty  ob- 
ligation to  interfere  ?  How  far,  if  several  Powers 
agree  to  guarantee  the  integrity  of  a  small  Power,  is 
one  Power  bound  at  great  risk  to  interfere  in  isolation 
if  its  co-partners  refuse  to  do  so  or  are  even  accom- 
plices in  a  policy  of  plunder  ?  How  far,  if  the  aggres- 
sion of  other  Powers  places  his  nation  at  a  commercial 
or  other  disadvantage  in  the  competition  of  nations, 
may  a  statesman  take  measures  which,  under  other 
13 


194  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

circumstances,  would  be  plainly  unjustifiable,  to  guard 
against  such  disadvantage  ?  With  what  degrees  of 
punctiliousness,  at  what  cost  of  treasure  and  of  life, 
ought  a  nation  to  resent  insults  directed  against  its 
dignity,  its  subjects  and  its  flag  ?  What  is  the  mean- 
ing and  what  are  the  limits  of  national  egotism  and 
national  unselfishness  ?  There  is  such  a  thing  as  the 
comity  of  nations,  and  even  apart  from  treaty  obliga- 
tions no  great  nation  can  pursue  a  policy  of  complete 
isolation,  disregarding  crimes  and  aggressions  beyond 
its  border.  On  the  other  hand,  the  primary  duty  of 
every  statesman  is  to  his  own  country.  His  task  is  to 
secure  for  many  millions  of  the  human  race  the  high- 
est possible  amount  of  peace  and  prosperity,  and  a 
selfishness  is  at  least  not  a  narrow  one  which,  while 
abstaining  from  injuring  others,  restricts  itself  to  pro- 
moting the  happiness  of  a  vast  section  of  the  human 
race.  Sacrifices  and  dangers  which  a  good  man  would 
think  it  his  clear  duty  to  accept  if  they  fell  on  himself 
alone  wear  another  aspect  if  he  is  acting  as  trustee  for 
a  great  nation  and  for  the  interests  of  generations  who 
are  yet  unborn.  Nothing  is  more  calamitous  than  the 
divorce  of  politics  from  morals,  but  in  practical  poli- 
tics public  and  private  morals  will  never  absolutely 
correspond.  The  public  opinion  of  the  nation  will  in- 
evitably inspire  and  control  its  statesmen.  It  creates 
in  all  countries  an  ethical  code  which  with  greater  or 
less  perfection  marks  out  for  them  the  path  of  duty, 
and  though  a  great  statesman  may  do  something  to 
raise  its  level,  he  can  never  wholly  escape  its  influence. 
In  different  nations  it  is  higher  or  lower — in  truthful- 
ness and  sincerity  of  diplomacy  the  variations  are  very 


ALLEGED  JUSTIFICATION  OF   CONQUEST 

great — but  it  will  never  be  the  exact  code  on  which 
men  act  in  private  life.  It  is  certainly  widely  differ- 
ent from  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount. 

There  is  one  belief,  half  unconscious,  half  avowed, 
which  in  our  generation  is  passing  widely  over  the 
world  and  is  practically  accepted  in  a  very  large  mea- 
sure by  the  English-speaking  nations.  It  is  that  to 
reclaim  savage  tribes  to  civilisation,  and  to  place  the 
outlying  dominions  of  civilised  countries  which  are 
anarchical  or  grossly  misgoverned  in  the  hands  of 
rulers  who  govern  wisely  and  uprightly,  are  sufficient 
justification  for  aggression  and  conquest.  Many  who, 
as  a  general  rule,  would  severely  censure  an  unjust  and 
unprovoked  war,  carried  on  for  the  purpose  of  annex- 
ation by  a  strong  Power  against  a  weak  one,  will  ex- 
cuse or  scarcely  condemn  such  a  war  if  it  is  directed 
against  a  country  which  has  shown  itself  incapable  of 
good  government.  To  place  the  world  in  the  hands 
of  those  who  can  best  govern  it  is  looked  upon  as  a 
supreme  end.  "Wars  are  not  really  undertaken  for  this 
end.  The  philanthropy  of  nations  when  it  takes  the 
form  of  war  and  conquest  is  seldom  or  never  unmixed 
with  selfishness,  though  strong  gusts  of  humanitarian 
enthusiasm  often  give  an  impulse,  a  pretext,  or  a  sup- 
port to  the  calculated  actions  of  statesmen.  But  when 
wars,  however  selfish  and  unprovoked,  contribute  to 
enlarge  the  boundaries  of  civilisation,  to  stimulate  real 
progress,  to  put  an  end  to  savage  customs,  to  oppres- 
sion or  to  anarchy,  they  are  now  very  indulgently 
judged  even  in  the  many  cases  in  which  the  inhabitants 
of  the  conquered  Power  do  not  desire  the  change  and 
resist  it  strenuously  in  the  field. 


196  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE  • 

In  domestic  as  in  foreign  politics  the  maintenance 
of  a  high  moral  standard  in  statesmanship  is  impossible 
unless  the  public  opinion  of  the  country  is  in  harmony 
with  it.  Moral  declension  in  a  nation  is  very  swiftly 
followed  by  a  corresponding  decadence  among  its  public 
men,  and  it  will  indeed  be  generally  found  that  the 
standard  of  public  men  is  apt  to  be  somewhat  lower 
than  that  of  the  better  section  of  the  public  outside. 
They  are  exposed  to  very  special  temptations,  some  of 
which  I  have  already  indicated. 

The  constant  habit  of  regarding  questions  with  a 
view  to  party  advantage,  to  proximate  issues,  to  imme- 
diate popularity,  which  is  inseparable  from  parlia- 
mentary government,  can  hardly  fail  to  give  some  ply 
to  the  most  honest  intellect.  Most  questions  have  to 
be  treated  more  or  less  in  the  way  of  compromise ;  and 
alliances  and  coalitions  not  very  conducive  to  a  severe 
standard  of  political  morals  are  frequent.  In  England 
the  leading  men  of  the  opposing  parties  have  happily 
usually  been  able  to  respect  one  another.  The  same 
standard  of  honour  will  be  found  on  both  sides  of  the 
House,  but  every  parliament  contains  its  notorious 
agitators,  intriguers  and  self-seekers,  men  who  have 
been  connected  with  acts  which  may  or  may  not  have 
been  brought  within  the  reach  of  the  criminal  law,  but 
have  at  least  been  sufficient  to  stamp  their  character 
in  the  eyes  of  honest  men.  Such  men  cannot  be 
neglected  in  party  combinations.  Political  leaders 
must  co-operate  with  them  in  the  daily  intercourse  and 
business  of  parliamentary  life — must  sometimes  ask 
them  favours — must  treat  them  with  deference  and  re- 
spect. Men  who  on  some  subjects  and  at  some  times 


MORAL  STANDARD  IN   POLITICS  197 

have  acted  with  glaring  profligacy,  on  others  act  with 
judgment,  moderation  and  even  patriotism,  and  be- 
come useful  supporters  or  formidable  opponents.  Com- 
binations are  in  this  way  formed  which  are  in  no 
degree  wrong,  but  which  tend  to  dull  the  edge  of  moral 
perception  and  imperceptibly  to  lower  the  standard 
of  moral  judgment.  In  the  swift  changes  of  the  party 
kaleidoscope  the  bygone  is  soon  forgotten.  The  en- 
emy of  yesterday  is  the  ally  of  to-day ;  the  services 
of  the  present  soon  obscure  the  misdeeds  of  the  past ; 
and  men  insensibly  grow  very  tolerant  not  only  of 
diversities  of  opinion,  but  also  of  gross  aberrations 
of  conduct.  The  constant  watchfulness  of  external 
opinion  is  very  necessary  to  keep  up  a  high  standard 
of  political  morality. 

Public  opinion,  it  is  true,  is  by  no  means  impeccable. 
The  tendency  to  believe  that  crimes  cease  to  be  crimes 
when  they  have  a  political  object,  and  that  a  popular 
vote  can  absolve  the  worst  crimes,  is  only  too  common ; 
there  are  few  political  misdeeds  which  wealth,  rank, 
genius  or  success  will  not  induce  large  sections  of 
English  society  to  pardon,  and  nations  even  in  their 
best  moments  will  not  judge  acts  which  are  greatly  for 
their  own  advantage  with  the  severity  of  judgment 
that  they  would  apply  to  similar  acts  of  other  na- 
tions. But  when  all  this  is  admitted,  it  still  remains 
true  that  there  is  a  large  body  of  public  opinion  in 
England  which  carries  into  all  politics  a  sound  moral 
sense  and  which  places  a  just  and  righteous  policy 
higher  than  any  mere  party  interest.  It  is  on  the 
power  and  pressure  of  this  opinion  that  the  high  cha- 
racter of  English  government  must  ultimately  depend. 


198  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  necessities  for  moral  compromise  I  have  traced  in 
the  army,  in  the  law,  and  in  the  fields  of  politics  may  be 
found  in  another  form  not  less  conspicuously  in  the 
Church.  The  members,  and  still  more  the  ministers, 
of  an  ancient  Church  bound  to  formularies  and 
creeds  that  were  drawn  up  in  long  bygone  centuries, 
are  continually  met  by  the  difficulties  of  reconciling 
these  forms  with  the  changed  conditions  of  human 
knowledge,  and  there  are  periods  when  the  pressure  of 
these  difficulties  is  felt  with  more  than  common  force. 
Such,  for  example,  were  the  periods  of  the  Renaissance 
and  the  Reformation,  when  changes  in  the  intellectual 
condition  of  Europe  produced  a  widespread  conviction 
of  the  vast  amount  of  imposture  and  delusion  which 
had  received  the  sanction  of  a  Church  that  claimed  to 
be  infallible,  the  result  being  in  some  countries  a  silent 
evanescence  of  all  religious  belief  among  the  educated 
class,  even  including  a  large  number  of  the  leaders  of 
the  Church,  and  in  other  countries  a  great  outburst  of 
religious  zeal  aiming  at  the  restoration  of  Christianity 
to  its  primitive  form  and  a  repudiation  of  the  accre- 
tions of  superstition  that  had  gathered  around  it.  The 
Copernican  theory  proving  that  our  world  is  not,  as 
was  long  believed,  the  centre  of  the  universe,  but  a 
single  planet  moving  with  many  others  around  a  cen- 
tral sun,  and  the  discovery,  by  the  instrumentality  of 


THE   SCIENTIFIC  SPIRIT  AND  THEOLOGY         199 

the  telescope,  of  the  infinitesimally  small  place  which 
our  globe  occupies  in  the  universe,  altered  men's 
measure  of  probability  and  affected  widely,  though 
indirectly,  their  theological  beliefs. 

A  similar  change  was  gradually  produced  by  the 
Newtonian  discovery  that  the  whole  system  of  the 
universe  was  pervaded  by  one  great  law,  and  by  the 
steady  growth  of  scientific  knowledge,  proving  that 
vast  numbers  of  phenomena  which  were  once  attri- 
buted to  isolated  and  capricious  acts  of  spiritual  inter- 
vention were  regulated  by  invariable,  inexorable,  all- 
pervasive  law.  Many  of  the  formularies  by  which  we 
still  express  our  religious  beliefs  date  from  periods 
when  comets  and  eclipses  were  believed  to  have  been 
sent  to  portend  calamity  ;  when  every  great  meteoro- 
logical change  was  attributed  to  some  isolated  spiritual 
agency ;  when  witchcraft  and  diabolical  possession, 
supernatural  diseases,  and  supernatural  cures  were 
deemed  indubitable  facts  :  and  when  accounts  of  con- 
temporary miracles,  Divine  or  Satanic,  carried  with 
them  no  sense  of  strangeness  or  improbability.  It  is 
scarcely  surprising  that  these  formularies  sometimes 
seem  incongruous  with  an  age  when  the  scientific  spirit 
has  introduced  very  different  conceptions  of  the  go- 
vernment of  the  universe,  and  when  the  miraculous,  if 
it  is  not  absolutely  discredited,  is,  at  least  in  the  eyes 
of  most  educated  men,  relegated  to  a  distant  past. 

The  present  century  has  seen  some  powerful  reactions 
towards  older  religious  beliefs,  but  it  has  also  been  to 
an  unusual  extent  fertile  in  the  kind  of  changes  that 
most  deeply  affect  them.  Not  many  years  have  passed 
since  the  whole  drama  of  the  world's  history  was  be- 


200  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

lieved  to  have  been  comprised  in  the  framework  of 
'  Paradise  Lost '  and  '  Paradise  Regained/  Man  ap- 
peared in  the  universe  a  faultless  being  in  a  faultless 
world,  but  he  soon  fell  from  his  first  estate,  and  his 
fall  entailed  world-wide  consequences.  It  introduced 
into  our  globe  sin,  death,  suffering,  disease,  imperfec- 
tion and  decay ;  all  the  mischievous  and  ferocious 
instincts  and  tendencies  of  man  and  beast ;  all  the 
multitudinous  forms  of  struggle,  terror,  anxiety  and 
grief ;  all  that  makes  life  bitter  to  any  living  being, 
and,  even  as  the  Fathers  were  accustomed  to  say,  the 
briars  and  weeds  and  sterility  of  the  earth.  Paradise 
Regained  was  believed  to  be  indissolubly  connected 
with  Paradise  Lost.  The  one  was  the  explanation  of 
the  other.  The  one  introduced  the  disease,  the  other 
provided  the  remedy. 

It  is  idle  to  deny  that  the  main  outlines  of  this  pic- 
ture have  been  wholly  changed.  First  came  the  dis- 
covery that  the  existence  of  our  globe  stretches  far 
beyond  the  period  once  assigned  to  the  Creation,  and 
that  for  countless  ages  before  the  time  when  Adam 
was  believed  to  have  lost  Paradise,  death  had  been  its 
most  familiar  fact  and  its  inexorable  law ;  that  the 
animals  who  inhabited  it  preyed  upon  and  devoured 
each  other  as  at  present,  their  claws  and  teeth  being 
specially  adapted  for  that  purpose.  Even  their  half- 
digested  remains  have  been  preserved  in  fossil. 

'  Death/  wrote  a  Pagan  philosopher,  in  sharp  con- 
trast to  the  teaching  of  the  Church,  '  is  a  law  and  not 
a  punishment/  and  geology  has  fully  justified  his 
assertion. 

Then  came  decisive  evidence  showing  that  for  many 


DISPLACEMENTS  OF  OLD  BELIEFS       201 

thousands  of  years  before  his  supposed  origin  man  had 
lived  and  died  upon  our  globe — a  being,  as  far  as  can 
be  judged  from  the  remains  that  have  been  preserved, 
not  superior  but  greatly  inferior  to  ourselves,  whose 
almost  only  art  was  the  manufacture  of  rude  instru- 
ments for  killing,  who  appears  in  structure  and  in  life 
to  have  approximated  closely  to  the  lowest  existing 
forms  of  savage  life. 

Then  came  the  Darwinian  theory  maintaining  that 
the  whole  history  of  the  living  world  is  a  history  of 
slow  and  continuous  evolution,  chiefly  by  means  of  in- 
cessant strife,  from  lower  to  higher  forms ;  that  man 
himself  had  in  this  way  gradually  emerged  from  the 
humblest  forms  of  the  animal  world;  that  most  of  the 
moral  deflections  which  were  attributed  to  the  apple  in 
Eden  are  the  remains  and  traditions  of  the  earlier  and 
lower  stages  of  his  existence.  The  theory  of  continu- 
ous ascent  from  a  lower  to  a  higher  stage  took  the 
place  of  the  theory  of  the  Fall  as  the  explanation  of 
human  history.  It  is  a  doctrine  which  is  certainly  not 
without  hope  for  the  human  race.  It  gives  no  expla- 
nation of  the  ultimate  origin  of  things,  and  it  is  in  no 
degree  inconsistent  with  the  belief  either  in  a  Divine 
and  Creative  origin  or  in  a  settled  and  Providential 
plan.  But  it  is  as  far  as  possible  removed  from  the 
conception  of  human  history  and  human  nature  which 
Christendom  during  eighteen  centuries  accepted  as 
fundamental  truth. 

With  these  things  have  come  influences  of  another 
kind.  Comparative  Mythology  has  accumulated  a  vast 
amount  of  evidence,  showing  how  myths  and  miracles 
are  the  natural  product  of  certain  stages  of  human  his- 


202  THE  MAP  O 

tory,  of  certain  primitive  misconceptions  of  the  course 
of  nature ;  how  legends  essentially  of  the  same  kind, 
though  with  some  varieties  of  detail,  have  sprung  up  in 
many  different  quarters,  and  how  they  have  migrated 
and  interacted  on  each  other.  Biblical  criticism  has  at 
the  same  time  decomposed  and  analysed  the  Jewish 
writings,  assigning  to  them  dates  and  degrees  of 
authority  very  different  from  those  recognised  by  the 
Church.  It  has  certainly  not  impaired  their  signifi- 
cance as  records  of  successive  developments  of  religious 
and  moral  progress,  nor  has  it  diminished  their  value 
as  expressions  of  the  loftiest  and  most  enduring  reli- 
gious sentiments  of  mankind ;  but  in  the  eyes  of  a  great 
section  of  the  educated  world  it  has  deprived  them  of 
the  authoritative  and  infallible  character  that  was  once 
attributed  to  them.  At  the  same  time  historical  criti- 
cism has  brought  with  it  severer  standards  of  proof, 
more  efficient  means  of  distinguishing  the  historical 
from  the  fabulous.  It  has  traced  the  phases  and  vari- 
ations of  religions,  and  the  influences  that  governed 
them,  with  a  fulness  of  knowledge  and  an  indepen- 
dence of  judgment  unknown  in  the  past,  and  it  has  led 
its  votaries  to  regard  in  these  matters  a  sceptical  and 
hesitating  spirit  as  a  virtue,  and  credulity  and  easiness 
of  belief  as  a  vice. 

This  is  not  a  book  of  theology,  and  I  have  no  inten- 
tion of  dilating  on  these  things.  It  must,  however,  be 
manifest  to  all  who  are  acquainted  with  contemporary 
thought  how  largely  these  influences  have  displaced 
theological  beliefs  among  great  numbers  of  educated 
men  ;  how  many  things  that  were  once  widely  believed 
have  become  absolutely  incredible ;  how  many  that 


DISPLACEMENTS  OF  OLD  BELIEFS  203 

once  supposed  to  rest  on  the  plane  of  certainty 
have  now  sunk  to  the  lower  plane  of  mere  probability  or 
perhaps  possibility.  From  the  time  of  Galileo  down- 
wards, these  changes  have  been  denounced  as  incom- 
patible with  the  whole  structure  of  Christian  belief. 
No  less  an  apologist  than  Bishop  Berkeley  declared 
that  the  belief  that  the  date  of  the  existence  of  the 
world  was  approximately  that  which  could  be  deduced 
from  the  book  of  Genesis  was  one  of  the  fundamental 
beliefs  which  could  not  be  given  up.1  When  the  tra- 
veller Brydone  published  his  travels  in  Sicily  in  1773, 
conjecturing,  from  the  deposits  of  lava,  that  the  world 
must  be  much  older  than  the  Mosaic  cosmogony  ad- 
mitted, his  work  was  denounced  as  subverting  the 
foundations  of  the  Christian  faith.  The  same  charges 
were  brought  against  the  earlier  geologists,  and  in  our 
own  day  against  the  early  supporters  of  the  Darwinian 
theory  ;  and  many  now  living  can  remember  the  out- 
bursts of  indignation  against  those  who  first  intro- 
duced the  principles  of  German  criticism  into  English 
thought,  and  who  impugned  the  historical  character 
and  the  assumed  authorship  of  the  Pentateuch. 

It  is  not  surprising  or  unreasonable  that  it  should 
have  been  so,  for  it  is  impossible  to  deny  that  these 
changes  have  profoundly  altered  large  portions  of  the 
beliefs  that  were  once  regarded  as  essential.  One  main 
object  of  a  religion  was  believed  to  have  been  to  fur- 
nish what  may  be  called  a  theory  of  the  universe — to 
explain  its  origin,  its  destiny,  and  the  strange  contra- 
dictions and  imperfections  it  presents.  The  Jewish 


1  Alciphron,  6th  Dialogue. 


204  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

theory  was  a  very  clear  and  definite  one,  but  it  is  cer- 
tainly not  that  of  modern  science. 

Yet  few  things  are  more  remarkable  than  the  facility 
with  which  these  successive  changes  have  gradually 
found  their  places  within  the  Established  Church,  and 
how  little  that  Church  has  been  shaken  by  this  fact. 
Even  the  Darwinian  theory,  though  it  has  not  yet 
passed  into  the  circle  of  fully  established  truth,  is  in 
its  main  lines  constantly  mentioned  with  approbation 
by  the  clergy  of  the  Church.  The  theory  of  evolution 
largely  pervades  their  teaching.  The  doctrine  that 
the  Bible  was  never  intended  to  teach  science  or  scien- 
tific facts,  and  also  the  main  facts  and  conclusions  of 
modern  Biblical  criticism,  have  been  largely  accepted 
among  the  most  educated  clergy.  Very  few  of  them 
would  now  deny  the  antiquity  of  the  world,  the  anti- 
quity of  man,  or  the  antiquity  of  death,  or  would 
maintain  that  the  Mosaic  cosmogony  was  a  true  and 
literal  account  of  the  origin  of  the  globe  and  of  man, 
or  would  very  strenuously  argue  either  for  the  Mosaic 
authorship  or  the  infallibility  of  the  Pentateuch. 

And  while  changes  of  this  kind  have  been  going  on 
in  one  direction,  another  great  movement  has  been 
taking  place  in  an  opposite  one.  The  Church  of  Eng- 
land was  essentially  a  Protestant  Church  ;  though,  be- 
ing constructed  more  than  most  other  Churches  under 
political  influences,  by  successive  stages  of  progress, 
and  with  a  view  to  including  large  and  varying  sec- 
tions of  opinion  in  its  fold,  it  retained,  more  than 
other  Churches,  formularies  and  tenets  derived  from 
the  Church  it  superseded.  The  earnest  Protestant 
and  Puritan  party  which  dominated  in  Scotland  and 


THE  ANGLICAN   REFORMATION  205 

in  the  Continental  Reformation,  and  which  refused  all 
compromise  with  Rome,  had  not  become  powerful  in 
English  public  opinion  till  some  time  after  the  frame- 
work of  the  Church  was  established.  The  spirit  of 
compromise  and  conservatism  which  already  charac- 
terised the  English  people ;  the  great  part  which 
kings  and  lawyers  played  in  the  formation  of  the 
Church  ;  their  desire  to  maintain  in  England  a  single 
body,  comprising  men  who  had  broken  away  from  the 
Papacy  but  who  had  in  other  respects  no  great  objec- 
tion to  Roman  Catholic  forms  and  doctrines,  and  also 
men  seriously  imbued  with  the  strong  Protestant  feel- 
ing of  Germany  and  Switzerland  ;  the  strange  ductil- 
ity of  belief  and  conduct  that  induced  the  great  ma- 
jority of  the  English  clergy  to  retain  their  preferments 
and  avoid  persecution  during  the  successive  changes 
of  Henry  VIII.,  Edward  VI.,  Mary,  and  Elizabeth,  all 
assisted  in  forming  a  Church  of  a  very  composite 
character.  Two  distinct  theories  found  their  place 
within  it.  According  to  one  school  it  was  simply  the 
pre-Reformation  Church  purified  from  certain  abuses 
that  had  gathered  around  it,  organically  united  with 
it  through  a  divinely  appointed  episcopacy,  resting  on 
an  authoritative  and  ecclesiastical  basis,  and  forming 
one  of  the  three  great  branches  of  the  Catholic  Church. 
According  to  the  other  school  it  was  one  of  several 
Protestant  Churches,  retaining  indeed  such  portions  of 
the  old  ecclesiastical  organisation  as  might  be  justified 
from  Scripture,  but  not  regarding  them  as  among  the 
essentials  of  Christianity  ;  agreeing  with  other  Protes- 
tant bodies  in  what  was  fundamental,  and  differing  from 
them  mainly  on  points  which  were  non-essential ;  accept- 


206  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

ing  cordially  the  principle  that '  the  Bible  and  the  Bible 
alone  is  the  religion  of  Protestants/  and  at  the  same 
time  separated  by  the  gravest  and  most  vital  differences 
from  what  they  deemed  the  great  apostasy  of  Rome. 

It  was  argued  on  the  one  hand  that  in  its  ecclesias- 
tical and  legal  organisation  the  Church  in  England 
was  identical  with  the  Church  in  the  reign  of  Henry 
VII.;  that  there  had  been  no  breach  of  continuity ; 
that  bishops,  and  often  the  same  bishops,  sat  in  the 
same  sees  before  and  after  the  Reformation  ;  that  the 
great  majority  of  the  parochial  clergy  were  unchanged, 
holding  their  endowments  by  the  same  titles  and 
tenures,  subject  to  the  same  courts,  and  meeting  in 
Convocation  in  the  same  manner  as  their  predeces- 
sors ;  that  the  old  Catholic  services  were  merely  trans- 
lated and  revised,  and  that  although  Roman  usurpa- 
tions which  had  never  been  completely  acquiesced  in 
had  been  decisively  rejected,  and  although  many  su- 
perstitious novelties  had  been  removed,  the  Church  of 
England  was  still  the  Church  of  St.  Augustine ;  that 
it  had  never,  even  in  the  darkest  period,  lost  its  distinct 
existence,  and  that  supernatural  graces  and  sacerdotal 
powers  denied  to  all  schismatics  had  descended  to  it 
through  the  Episcopacy  in  an  unbroken  stream.  On 
the  other  hand  it  was  argued  that  the  essential  of  a 
true  Church  lay  in  the  accordance  of  its  doctrines  with 
the  language  of  Scripture  and  not  in  the  methods  of 
Church  government,  and  that  whatever  might  be  the 
case  in  a  legal  point  of  view,  the  theory  of  the  unity 
of  the  Church  before  and  after  the  Reformation  was  in 
a  theological  sense  a  delusion.  The  Church  under 
Henry  VII.  was  emphatically  a  theocracy  or  ecclesi- 


THE  ENGLISH  REFORMATION  £07 

astical  monarchy,  the  Pope,  as  the  supposed  successor 
of  the  supposed  prince  of  the  Apostles,  being  the  very 
keystone  of  the  spiritual  arch.  Under  Henry  VIII. 
and  Elizabeth  the  Church  of  England  had  become  a 
kind  of  aristocracy  of  bishops,  governed  very  really  as 
well  as  theoretically  by  the  Crown,  totally  cut  off  from 
what  called  itself  the  Chair  of  Peter,  and  placed  under 
completely  new  relations  with  the  Catholic  Church  of 
Christendom.  In  this  space  of  time  Anglican  Chris- 
tianity had  discarded  not  only  the  Papacy  but  also 
great  part  of  what  for  centuries  before  the  change 
had  been  deemed  vitally  and  incontestably  necessary 
both  in  its  theology  and  in  its  devotions.  Though 
much  of  the  old  organisation  and  many  of  the  old  for- 
mularies had  been  retained,  its  articles,  its  homilies, 
the  constant  teaching  of  its  founders,  breathed  a  spirit 
of  unquestionable  Protestantism.  The  Church  which 
remained  attached  to  Rome,  and  which  held  the  same 
doctrines,  practised  the  same  devotions,  and  performed 
the  same  ceremonies  as  the  English  Church  under 
Henry  VII.,  professed  to  be  infallible,  and  it  utterly 
repudiated  all  connection  with  the  new  Church  of 
England,  and  regarded  it  as  nothing  more  than  a 
Protestant  schism  ;  while  the  Church  of  England  in 
her  authorised  formularies  branded  some  of  the  central 
beliefs  and  devotions  of  the  Roman  Church  as  blas- 
phemous, idolatrous,  superstitious  and  deceitful,  and 
was  long  accustomed  to  regard  that  Church  as  the 
Church  of  Antichrist ;  the  Harlot  of  the  Apocalypse, 
drunk  with  the  blood  of  the  Saints.  Each  Church 
during  long  periods  and  to  the  full  measure  of  its 
powers  suppressed  or  persecuted  the  other. 


208  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

In  the  eyes  of  the  Erastian  and  also  in  the  eyes  of 
the  Puritan  the  theory  of  the  spiritual  unity  of  these 
two  bodies,  and  the  various  sacerdotal  consequences 
that  were  inferred  from  it,  seemed  incredible,  nor  did 
the  first  generation  of  our  reformers  shrink  from  com- 
munion, sympathy  and  co-operation  with  the  non- 
episcopal  Protestants  of  the  Continent.  Although 
they  laid  great  stress  on  patristic  authority,  and  con- 
sented— chiefly  through  political  motives — to  leave  in 
the  Prayer-book  many  things  derived  from  the  older 
Church,  yet  the  High  Church  theory  of  Anglicanism 
is  much  more  the  product  of  the  seventeenth-century 
divines  than  of  the  reformers,  just  as  Roman  Catholi- 
cism is  much  more  akin  to  the  later  fathers  than  to 
primitive  Christianity.  No  one  could  doubt  on  what 
side  were  the  sympathies  and  what  were  the  opinions 
of  Cranmer,  Latimer,  Ridley,  Jewell  and  Hooper,  and 
what  spirit  pervades  the  articles  and  the  homilies.  A 
Church  which  does  not  claim  to  be  infallible ;  which 
owes  its  special  form  chiefly  to  the  sagacity  of  states- 
men ;  in  which  the  supreme  tribunal,  deciding  what 
doctrines  may  be  taught  by  the  clergy,  is  a  secular  law 
court ;  in  which  the  bands  of  conformity  are  so  loose 
that  the  tendencies  and  sentiments  of  the  nation  give 
the  complezion  to  the  Church,  appears  in  the  eyes  of 
men  of  these  schools  to  have  no  possible  right  to  claim 
or  share  the  authority  of  the  Church  of  Rome.  It  resta 
on  another  basis.  It  must  be  justified  on  other 
grounds. 

These  two  distinct  schools,  however,  have  subsisted 
in  the  Church.  Each  of  them  can  find  some  support 
in  the  Prayer-book,  and  the  old  orthodox  High  Church 


THE  EARLY  HIGH-CHURCH  SCHOOL  209 

school  which  was  chiefly  elaborated  and  which  chiefly 
flourished  under  the  Stuarts,  has  produced  a  great  part 
of  the  most  learned  theology  of  Christendom,  and  had 
in  its  early  days  little  or  no  tendency  to  Home.  It  was 
exclusive  and  repellent  on  the  side  of  Nonconformity, 
and  it  placed  Church  authority  very  high  ;  but  the  im- 
mense majority  of  its  members  were  intensely  loyal  to 
the  Anglican  Church,  and  lived  and  died  contentedly 
within  its  pale.  There  were,  however,  always  in  that 
Church  men  of  another  kind  whose  true  ideal  lay  be- 
yond its  border.  Falkland,  in  a  remarkable  speech, 
delivered  in  1640,  speaks  of  them  with  much  bitterness. 
'Some/  he  says,  'have  so  industriously  laboured  to 
deduce  themselves  from  Rome  that  they  have  given 
great  suspicion  that  in  gratitude  they  desire  to  return 
thither,  or  at  least  to  meet  it  half  way.  Some  have 
evidently  laboured  to  bring  in  an  English  though  not 
a  Roman  Popery  ;  I  mean  not  only  the  outside  and 
dress  of  it,  but  equally  absolute.  .  .  .  Nay,  common 
fame  is  more  than  ordinarily  false  if  none  of  them 
have  found  a  way  to  reconcile  the  opinions  of  Rome  to 
the  preferments  of  England,  and  be  so  absolutely, 
directly  and  cordially  Papists  that  it  is  all  that  1,500?. 
a  year  can  do  to  keep  them  from  confessing  it.'1 

No  wide  secession  to  Rome,  however,  followed  the 
development  of  this  seventeenth-century  school,  though 
it  played  a  large  part  in  the  nonjuror  schism,  and 
with  the  decay  of  that  schism  and  under  the  latitudi- 
narian  tendencies  of  the  eighteenth  century  it  greatly 
dwindled.  Since,  however,  the  Tractarian  movement, 


1  Nalsons's  Collections,  i.  769,  February  9, 1640. 
14 


210  THE  MAP  °F  LIFE 

which  carried  so  many  leaders  of  the  English  Church 
to  Rome,  men  of  Roman  sympathies  and  Roman  ideals 
have  multiplied  within  the  Church  to  an  extraordinary 
degree.  They  have  not  only  carried  their  theological 
pretensions  in  the  direction  of  Rome  much  further 
than  the  nonjurors ;  they  have  also  in  many  cases  so 
transformed  the  old  and  simple  Anglican  service  by 
vestments  and  candles,  and  banners  and  incense,  and 
genuflexions  and  whispered  prayers,  that  a  stranger 
might  well  imagine  that  he  was  in  a  Roman  Catholic 
church.  They  have  put  forward  sacerdotal  pretensions 
little,  if  at  all,  inferior  to  those  of  Rome.  The  whole 
tendency  of  their  devotional  literature  and  thought 
flows  in  the  Roman  channel,  and  even  in  the  most  in- 
significant matters  of  ceremony  and  dress  they  are 
accustomed  to  pay  the  greater  Church  the  homage  of 
constant  imitation. 

It  would  be  unjust  to  deny  that  there  are  some  real 
differences.  The  absolute  authority  and  infallibility  of 
the  Pope  are  sincerely  repudiated  as  an  usurpation,  the 
ritualist  theory  only  conceding  to  him  a  primacy  among 
bishops.  The  discipline  and  submission  to  ecclesias- 
tical authority  also,  which  so  eminently  distinguish  the 
Roman  Church,  are  wholly  wanting  in  many  of  its 
Anglican  imitators,  and  at  the  same  time  the  English 
sense  of  truth  has  proved  sufficient  to  save  the  party 
from  the  tolerance  and  propagation  of  false  miracles 
and  of  grossly  superstitious  practices  so  common  in 
Roman  Catholic  countries.  In  this  last  respect,  how- 
ever, it  is  probable  that  English  and  American  Roman 
Catholics  are  almost  equally  distinguished  from  Catho- 
lics in  the  Southern  States  of  Europe  and  of  America. 


ATTRACTIONS  OF  RITUALISM  £11 

Still,  when  all  this  is  admitted,  it  can  hardly  be  denied 
that  there  has  grown  up  in  a  great  section  of  the 
English  Church  a  sympathy  with  Rome  and  an  anti- 
pathy to  Protestantism  and  to  Protestant  types  of 
thought  and  character  utterly  alien  to  the  spirit  of  the 
Eeformers  and  to  the  doctrinal  formularies  of  the 
Church  of  England. 

It  is  not  very  easy  to  form  a  just  estimate  of  the 
extent  and  depth  of  this  movement.  There  are  wide 
variations  in  the  High  Church  party ;  the  extreme  men 
are  not  the  most  numerous  and  certainly  very  far  from 
the  ablest,  and  many  influences  other  than  convinced 
belief  have  tended  to  strengthen  the  party.  It  has 
been,  indeed,  unlike  the  Tractarian  party  which  pre- 
ceded it,  remarkably  destitute  of  literary  or  theological 
ability,  and  has  added  singularly  little  to  the  large  and 
noble  theological  literature  of  the  English  Church. 
The  mere  charm  of  novelty,  which  is  always  especially 
powerful  in  the  field  of  religion,  draws  many  to  the 
ritualistic  channel,  and  thousands  who  care  very  little 
for  ritualistic  doctrines  are  attracted  by  the  music,  the 
pageantry,  the  pictorial  beauty  of  the  ritualistic  ser- 
vices. ^Esthetic  tastes  have  of  late  years  greatly  in- 
creased in  England,  and  the  closing  of  places  of 
amusement  on  Sunday  probably  strengthens  the  crav- 
ing for  more  attractive  services.  The  extreme  High 
Church  party  has  chiefly  fostered  and  chiefly  benefited 
by  this  desire,  but  it  has  extended  much  more  widely. 
It  has  touched  even  puritanical  and  non-episcopal 
bodies,  and  it  is  sometimes  combined  with  extremely 
latitudinarian  opinions.  There  is,  indeed,  a  type  of 
mind  which  finds  in  such  services  a  happy  anodyne  for 


212  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

half -suppressed  doubt.  Petitions  which  in  their  poig- 
nant humiliation  and  profound  emotion  no  longer  cor- 
respond to  the  genuine  feelings  of  the  worshipper,  seem 
attenuated  and  transformed  when  they  are  intoned, 
and  creeds  which  when  plainly  read  shock  the  under- 
standing and  the  conscience  are  readily  accepted  as 
parts  of  a  musical  performance.  Scepticism  as  well 
as  belief  sometimes  fills  churches.  Large  classes  who 
have  no  wish  to  cut  themselves  off  from  religious  ser- 
vices have  lost  all  interest  in  the  theological  distinctions 
which  once  were  deemed  supremely  important  and  all 
strong  belief  in  great  parts  of  dogmatic  systems,  and 
such  men  naturally  prefer  services  which  by  music  and 
ornament  gratify  their  tastes  and  exercise  a  soothing 
or  stimulating  influence  over  the  imagination. 

The  extreme  High  Church  party  has,  however,  other 
elements  of  attraction.  Much  of  its  power  is  due  to 
the  new  springs  of  real  spiritual  life  and  the  new  forms 
of  real  usefulness  and  charity  that  grew  out  of  its 
highly  developed  sacerdotal  system  and  out  of  the 
semi-monastic  confraternities  which  at  once  foster  and 
encourage  and  organise  an  active  zeal.  The  power  of 
the  party  in  acting  not  only  on  the  cultivated  classes  but 
also  on  the  poor  is  very  manifest,  and  it  has  done  much 
to  give  the  Church  of  England  a  democratic  character 
which  in  past  generations  it  did  not  possess,  and  which 
in  the  conditions  of  modern  life  is  supremely  impor- 
tant. The  multiplication  not  only  of  religious  services 
but  of  communicants,  and  the  great  increase  in  the 
interest  taken  in  Church  life  in  quarters  where  the 
Ritualist  party  prevail,  cannot  reasonably  be  ques- 
tioned. Its  highly  ornate  services  draw  many  into  the 


PRESENT  POSITION   OF  ANGLICANISM  213 

churches  who  never  entered  them  before,  and  they  are 
often  combined  with  a  familiar  and  at  the  same  time 
impassioned  style  of  preaching,  something  like  that  of 
a  Franciscan  friar  or  a  Methodist  preacher,  which  is 
excellently  fitted  to  act  upon  the  ignorant.  If  its 
clergy  have  been  distinguished  for  their  insubordination 
to  their  bishops,  if  they  have  displayed  in  no  dubious 
manner  a  keen  desire  to  aggrandise  their  own  position 
and  authority,  it  is  also  but  just  to  add  that  they  have 
been  prominent  for  the  zeal  and  self-sacrifice  with 
which  they  have  multiplied  services,  created  confra- 
ternities, and  penetrated  into  the  worst  and  most  ob- 
scure haunts  of  poverty  and  vice. 

The  result,  however,  of  all  this  is  that  the  conflict- 
ing tendencies  which  have  always  been  present  in  the 
Church  have  been  greatly  deepened.  There  are  to  be 
found  within  it  men  whose  opinions  can  hardly  be  dis- 
tinguished from  simple  Deism  or  Unitarianism,  and 
men  who  abjure  the  name  of  Protestant  and  are  only 
divided  by  the  thinnest  of  partitions  from  the  Roman 
Church.  And  this  diversity  exists  in  a  Church  which 
is  held  together  by  articles  and  formularies  of  the  six- 
teenth century. 

It  might,  perhaps,  a  priori  have  been  imagined 
that  a  Church  with  so  much  diversity  of  opinion  and 
of  spirit  was  an  enfeebled  and  disintegrated  Church, 
but  no  candid  man  will  attribute  such  a  character  to 
the  Church  of  England.  All  the  signs  of  corporate 
vitality  are  abundantly  displayed,  and  it  is  impossible 
to  deny  that  it  is  playing  an  active,  powerful,  and 
most  useful  part  in  English  life.  Looking  at  it  first 
of  all  from  the  intellectual  side,  it  is  plain  how  large 


214  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

a  proportion  of  the  best  intellect  of  the  country  is  con- 
tented, not  only  to  live  within  it,  but  to  take  an  active 
part  in  its  ministrations.  Compare  the  amount  of 
higher  literature  which  proceeds  from  clergymen  of 
the  Established  Church  with  the  amount  which  pro- 
ceeds from  the  vastly  greater  body  of  Catholic  priests 
scattered  over  the  world  ;  compare  the  place  which  the 
English  clergy,  or  laymen  deeply  imbued  with  the 
teaching  of  the  Church,  hold  in  English  literature 
with  the  place  which  Catholic  priests,  or  sincere  Ca- 
tholic laymen,  hold  in  the  literature  of  France, — and 
the  contrast  will  appear  sufficiently  evident.  There  is 
hardly  a  branch  of  serious  English  literature  in  which 
Anglican  clergy  are  not  conspicuous.  There  is  no- 
thing in  a  false  and  superstitious  creed  incompatible 
with  some  forms  of  literature.  It  may  easily  ally  itself 
with  the  genius  of  a  poet  or  with  great  beauty  of  style 
either  hortatory  or  narrative.  But  in  the  Church  of 
England  literary  achievement  is  certainly  not  restricted 
to  these  forms.  In  the  fields  of  physical  science,  in 
the  fields  of  moral  philosophy,  metaphysics,  social  and 
even  political  philosophy,  and  perhaps  still  more  in  the 
fields  of  history,  its  clergy  have  won  places  in  the  fore- 
most rank.  It  is  notorious  that  a  large  proportion 
of  the  most  serious  criticism,  of  the  best  periodical 
writing  in  England,  is  the  work  of  Anglican  clergy- 
men. No  one,  in  enumerating  the  leading  historians 
of  the  present  century,  would  omit  such  names  as 
Milman,  Thirlwall  and  Merivale,  in  the  generation 
which  has  just  passed  away,  or  Creighton  and  Stubbs 
among  contemporaries,  and  these  are  only  eminent  ex- 
amples of  a  kind  of  literature  to  which  the  Church 


INTELLECTUAL  POSITION  OF  ANGLICANISM          215 

has  very  largely  contributed.  Their  histories  are  not 
specially  conspicuous  for  beauty  of  style,  and  not  only 
conspicuous  for  their  profound  learning ;  they  are 
marked  to  an  eminent  degree  by  judgment,  criticism, 
impartiality,  a  desire  for  truth,  a  skill  in  separating 
the  proved  from  the  false  or  the  merely  probable. 
Compare  them  with  the  chief  histories  that  have  been 
written  by  Catholic  priests.  In  past  ages  some  of  the 
greatest  works  of  patient,  lifelong  industry  in  all  lite- 
rary history  were  due  to  the  Catholic  priesthood,  and 
especially  to  members  of  the  monastic  orders  ;  even  in 
modern  times  they  have  produced  some  works  of  great 
learning,  of  great  dialectic  skill,  and  of  great  beauty  of 
style  ;  but  with  scarcely  an  exception  these  works  bear 
upon  them  the  stamp  of  an  advocate  and  are  written 
for  the  purpose  of  proving  a  point,  concealing  or  ex- 
plaining away  the  faults  on  one  side,  and  bringing  into 
disproportioued  relief  those  of  the  other.  No  one 
would  look  in  them  for  a  candid  estimate  of  the  merits 
of  an  opponent  or  for  a  full  statement  of  a  hostile 
case.  Dollinger,  who  would  probably  once  have  been 
cited  as  the  greatest  historian  the  Catholic  priesthood 
had  produced  in  the  nineteenth  century,  died  under 
the  anathema  of  his  Church  ;  and  how  large  a  propor- 
tion of  the  best  writing  in  modern  English  Catholi- 
cism has  come  from  writers  who  have  been  brought  up 
in  Protestant  universities  and  who  have  learnt  their 
skill  in  the  Anglican  Church  ! 

It  is  at  least  one  great  test  of  a  living  Church  that 
the  best  intellect  of  the  country  can  enter  into  its 
ministry,  that  it  contains  men  who  in  nearly  all  branches 
of  literature  are  looked  upon  by  lay  scholars  with 


216  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

respect  or  admiration.  It  is  said  that  the  number  of 
young  men  of  ability  who  take  orders  is  diminishing, 
and  that  this  is  due,  not  merely  to  the  agricultural  de- 
pression which  has  made  the  Church  much  less  desir- 
able as  a  profession,  and  indeed  in  many  cases  almost 
impossible  for  those  who  have  not  some  private  for- 
tune; not  merely  to  the  competitive  examination  system, 
which  has  opened  out  vast  and  attractive  fields  of  am- 
bition to  the  ablest  laymen, — but  also  to  the  wide  diver- 
gence of  men  of  the  best  intellect  from  the  doctrines 
of  the  Church,  and  the  conviction  that  they  cannot 
honestly  subscribe  its  articles  and  recite  its  formularies. 
But  although  this  is,  I  believe,  true,  it  is  also  true  that 
there  is  no  other  Church  which  has  shown  itself  so 
capable  of  attracting  and  retaining  the  services  of  men 
of  general  learning,  criticism  and  ability.  One  of  the 
most  important  features  of  the  English  ecclesiastical 
system  has  been  the  education  of  those  who  are  intended 
for  the  Church,  in  common  with  other  students  in  the 
great  national  universities.  Other  systems  of  educa- 
tion may  produce  a  clergy  of  greater  professional  learn- 
ing and  more  intense  and  exclusive  zeal,  but  no  other 
system  of  education  is  so  efficacious  in  maintaining  a 
general  harmony  of  thought  and  tendency  between  the 
Church  and  the  average  educated  opinion  of  the  nation. 
Take  another  test.  Compare  the  Guardian,  which 
represents  better  than  any  other  paper  the  opinions  of 
moderate  Churchmen,  with  the  papers  which  are  most 
read  by  the  French  priesthood  and  have  most  influence 
on  their  opinions.  Certainly  few  English  journalists 
have  equalled  in  ability  Louis  Veuillot,  and  few  papers 
have  exercised  so  great  an  influence  over  the  clergy  of 


LITERARY   WORK  IN  THE  CHURCH  £17 

the  Church  as  the  Univers  at  the  time  when  he  directed 
it ;  but  no  one  who  read  those  savagely  scurrilous  and 
intolerant  pages,  burning  with  an  impotent  hatred  of 
all  the  progressive  and  liberal  tendencies  of  the  time, 
shrinking  from  no  misrepresentation  of  fact  and  from 
no  apology  for  crime  if  it  was  in  the  interest  of  the 
Church,  could  fail  to  perceive  how  utterly  out  of  har- 
mony it  was  with  the  best  lay  thought  of  France. 
English  religious  journalism  has  sometimes,  though 
in  a  very  mitigated  degree,  exhibited  some  of  these 
characteristics,  but  no  one  who  reads  the  Guardian, 
which  I  suppose  appeals  to  a  larger  clerical  public  than 
any  other  paper,  can  fail  to  realise  the  contrast.  It  is 
not  merely  that  it  is  habitually  written  in  the  style 
and  temper  of  a  gentleman,  but  that  it  reflects  most 
clearly  in  its  criticism,  its  impartiality,  its  tone  of 
thought,  the  best  intellectual  influences  of  the  time. 
Men  may  agree  or  differ  about  its  politics  or  its  theo- 
logy, but  no  one  who  reads  it  can  fail  to  admit  that  it 
is  thoroughly  in  touch  with  cultivated  lay  opinion,  and 
it  is  in  fact  a  favourite  paper  of  many  who  care  only 
for  its  secular  aspects. 

The  intellectual  ability,  however,  included  among 
the  ministers  of  a  Church,  though  one  test,  is  by  no 
means  a  decisive  and  infallible  one  of  its  religious  life. 
During  the  period  of  the  Kenaissance,  when  genuine 
belief  in  the  Catholic  Church  had  sunk  to  nearly  its 
lowest  point,  most  men  of  literary  tastes  and  talents 
were  either  members  of  the  priesthood  or  of  the 
monastic  orders.  This  was  not  due  to  any  fervour  of 
belief,  but  simply  to  the  fact  that  the  Church  at  that 
time  furnished  almost  the  only  sphere  in  which  a  lite- 


218  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

rary  life  could  be  pursued  with  comfort,  without  moles- 
tation, and  with  some  adequate  reward.  Much  of  the 
literary  ability  found  in  the  English  Church  is  unques- 
tionably due  to  the  attraction  it  offers  and  the  facili- 
ties it  gives  to  those  who  simply  wish  for  a  studious 
life.  The  abolition  of  many  clerical  sinecures,  and  the 
greatly  increased  activity  of  clerical  duty  imposed  by 
contemporary  opinion,  have  no  doubt  rendered  the 
profession  less  desirable  from  this  point  of  view  ;  but 
even  now  there  is  no  other  profession  outside  the  uni- 
versities which  lends  itself  so  readily  to  a  literary  life, 
and  a  great  proportion  of  the  most  eminent  thinkers 
and  writers  in  the  Church  of  England  are  eminent  in 
fields  that  have  little  or  no  connection  with  theology. 
Other  tests  of  a  flourishing  Church  are  needed,  but 
they  can  easily  be  found.  Political  power  is  one  test, 
though  it  is  a  very  coarse  and  very  deceptive  one.  Per- 
haps it  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  the  most  supersti- 
tious creeds  are  often  those  which  exercise  the  greatest 
political  influence,  for  they  are  those  in  which  the 
priesthood  acquires  the  most  absolute  authority.  Nor 
does  the  decline  of  superstition  among  the  educated 
classes  always  bring  with  it  a  corresponding  decline  in 
ecclesiastical  influence.  There  have  been  instances, 
both  in  Pagan  and  Christian  times,  of  a  sceptical  and 
highly  educated  ruling  class  supporting  and  allying 
themselves  with  a  superstitious  Church  as  the  best 
means  of  governing  or  moralising  the  masses.  Such 
Churches,  by  their  skilful  organisation,  by  their  as- 
cendency over  individual  rulers,  or  by  their  political 
alliances,  have  long  exercised  an  enormous  influence, 
and  in  a  democratic  age  the  preponderance  of  political 


THE  CHURCH'S  EDUCATIONAL  INFLUENCE       219 

power  is  steadily  passing  from  the  most  educated 
classes.  At  the  same  time,  in  a  highly  civilised  and 
perfectly  free  country,  in  which  all  laws  of  religious 
disqualification  and  coercion  have  disappeared,  and  all 
questions  of  religion  are  submitted  to  perpetual  dis- 
cussion, the  political  power  which  the  Church  of  Eng- 
land retains  at  least  proves  that  she  has  a  vast  weight 
of  genuine  and  earnest  opinion  behind  her.  No  poli- 
tician will  deny  the  strength  with  which  the  united  or 
greatly  preponderating  influence  of  the  Church  can 
support  or  oppose  a  party.  It  has  been  said  by  a  cyni- 
cal observer  that  the  three  things  outside  their  own 
families  that  average  Englishmen  value  the  most  are 
rank,  money,  and  the  Church  of  England,  and  cer- 
tainly no  good  observer  will  form  a  low  estimate  of  the 
strength  or  earnestness  of  the  Church  feeling  in  every 
section  of  the  English  people. 

Still  less  can  it  be  denied  that  the  Church  retains 
in  a  high  degree  its  educational  influence.  For  a  long 
period  national  education  was  almost  wholly  in  its 
hands,  and,  since  all  disqualifications  and  most  privi- 
leges have  been  abolished,  it  still  exercises  a  part  in 
English  education  which  excites  the  alarm  of  some 
and  the  admiration  of  others.  It  has  thrown  itself 
heartily  into  the  new  political  conditions,  and  the  vast 
number  of  voluntary  schools  established  under  clerical 
influence,  and  the  immense  sums  that  are  annually 
raised  for  clerical  purposes,  show  beyond  all  doubt  the 
amount  of  support  and  enthusiasm  behind  it.  In 
every  branch  of  higher  education  its  clergy  are  con- 
spicuous, and  their  influence  in  training  the  nation  is 
not  confined  to  the  pulpit,  the  university,  or  the 


220  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

school.  No  candid  observer  of  English  life  will  doubt 
the  immense  effect  of  the  parochial  system  in  sustain- 
ing the  moral  level  both  of  principle  and  practice,  and 
the  multitude,  activity,  and  value  of  the  philanthropic 
and  moralising  agencies  which  are  wholly  or  largely 
due  to  the  Anglican  Church. 

Nor  can  it  be  reasonably  doubted  that  the  Church 
has  been  very  efficacious  in  promoting  that  spiritual 
life  which,  whatever  opinion  men  may  form  of  its 
origin  and  meaning,  is  at  least  one  of  the  great 
realities  of  human  nature.  The  power  of  a  religion  is 
not  to  be  solely  or  mainly  judged  by  its  corporate  ac- 
tion ;  by  the  institutions  it  creates ;  by  the  part  which 
it  plays  in  the  government  of  the  world.  It  is  to  be 
found  much  more  in  its  action  on  the  individual  soul, 
and  especially  in  those  times  and  circumstances  when 
man  is  most  isolated  from  society.  It  is  in  furnishing 
the  ideals  and  motives  of  individual  life  ;  in  guiding 
and  purifying  the  emotions ;  in  promoting  habits  of 
thought  and  feeling  that  rise  above  the  things  of  earth  ; 
in  the  comfort  it  can  give  in  age,  sorrow,  disappoint- 
ment and  bereavement ;  in  the  seasons  of  sickness, 
weakness,  declining  faculties,  and  approaching  death, 
that  its  power  is  most  felt.  No  one  creed  or  Church 
has  the  monopoly  of  this  power,  though  each  has  often 
tried  to  identify  it  with  something  peculiar  to  itself. 
It  maybe  found  in  the  Catholic  and  in  the  Quaker,  in 
the  High  Anglican  who  attributes  it  to  his  sacramental 
system,  and  in  the  Evangelical  in  whose  eyes  that  sys- 
tem holds  only  a  very  subordinate  place.  All  that 
need  here  be  said  is  that  no  one  who  studies  the  devo- 
tional literature  of  the  English  Church,  or  who  has 


LATITUDINARIAN  TENDENCIES  221 

watched  the  lives  of  its  more  devout  members,  will 
doubt  that  this  life  can  largely  exist  and  flourish  within 
its  pale. 

The  attitude  which  men  who  have  been  born  within 
that  Church,  but  who  have  come  to  dissent  from  large 
portions  of  its  theology,  should  bear  to  this  great  in- 
strument of  good,  is  certainly  not  less  perplexing  than 
the  questions  we  have  been  considering  in  the  preced- 
ing chapters.  The  most  difficult  position  is,  of  course, 
that  of  those  who  are  its  actual  ministers  and  who 
have  subscribed  its  formularies.  Each  man  so  situ- 
ated must  judge  in  the  light  of  his  own  conscience. 
There  is  a  great  difference  between  the  case  of  men 
who  accept  such  a  position  in  the  Church  though  they 
differ  fundamentally  from  its  tenets,  and  the  case  of 
men  who,  having  engaged  in  its  service,  find  their  old 
convictions  modified  or  shaken,  perhaps  very  gradu- 
ally, by  the  advance  of  science  or  by  more  matured 
thought  and  study.  The  stringency  of  the  old  form 
of  subscription  has  been  much  mitigated  by  an  Act  of 
1865  which  substituted  a  general  declaration  that  the 
subscriber  believed  in  the  doctrine  of  the  Church  as  a 
whole,  for  a  declaration  that  he  believed  ' all  and  every- 
thing' in  the  Articles  and  the  Prayer-book.  The 
Church  of  England  does  not  prof  ess  to  be  an  infallible 
Church  ;  it  does  profess  to  be  a  National  Church  rep- 
resenting and  including  great  bodies  of  more  or  less 
divergent  opinion,  and  the  whole  tendency  of  legal 
decisions  since  the  Grorham  case  has  been  to  enlarge 
the  circle  of  permissible  opinion.  The  possibility  of 
the  National  Church  remaining  in  touch  with  the 
more  instructed  and  intellectual  portions  of  the  com- 


222  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

munity  depends  mainly  on  the  latitude  of  opinion  that 
is  accorded  to  its  clergy,  and  on  their  power  of  wel- 
coming and  adopting  new  knowledge,  and  it  may  rea- 
sonably be  maintained  that  few  greater  calamities  can 
befall  a  nation  than  the  severance  of  its  higher  intel- 
ligence from  religious  influences. 

It  should  be  remembered,  too,  that  on  the  latitudi- 
narian  side  the  changes  that  take  place  in  the  teaching 
of  the  Church  consist  much  less  in  the  open  repudia- 
tion of  old  doctrines  than  in  their  silent  evanescence. 
They  drop  out  of  the  exhortations  of  the  pulpit.  The 
relative  importance  of  different  portions  of  the  reli- 
gious teaching  is  changed.  Dogma  sinks  into  the  back- 
ground. Narratives  which  are  no  longer  seriously 
believed  become  texts  for  moral  disquisitions.  The 
introspective  habits  and  the  stress  laid  on  purely  ec- 
clesiastical duties  which  once  preponderated  disappear. 
The  teaching  of  the  pulpit  tends  rather  to  the  forma- 
tion of  active,  useful  and  unselfish  lives ;  to  a  clearer 
insight  into  the  great  masses  of  remediable  suffering 
and  need  that  still  exist  in  the  world  ;  to  the  duty  of 
carrying  into  all  the  walks  of  secular  life  a  nobler  and 
more  unselfish  spirit ;  to  a  habit  of  judging  men  and 
Churches  mainly  by  their  fruits  and  very  little  by  their 
beliefs.  The  disintegration  or  decadence  of  old  reli- 
gious beliefs  which  had  long  been  closely  associated 
with  moral  teaching  always  brings  with  it  grave  moral 
dangers,  but  those  dangers  are  greatly  diminished 
when  the  change  of  belief  is  effected  by  a  gradual 
transition,  without  any  violent  convulsion  or  disrup- 
tion severing  men  from  their  old  religious  observances. 
Such  a  transition  has  silently  taken  place  in  England 


LATITUDINARIAN   TENDENCIES  223 

among  great  numbers  of  educated  men,  and  in  some 
measure  under  the  influence  of  the  clergy.  Nor  has 
it,  I  think,  weakened  the  Church.  The  standard  of 
duty  among  such  men  has  not  sunk,  but  has  in  most 
departments  perceptibly  risen  :  their  zeal  has  not  di- 
minished, though  it  flows  rather  in  philanthropic  than 
in  purely  ecclesiastical  channels.  The  conviction  that 
the  special  dogmas  which  divided  other  Protestant 
bodies  from  the  Establishment  rested  on  no  substantial 
basis  and  have  no  real  importance  tells  in  favour  of 
the  larger  and  the  more  liberal  Church,  and  the  com- 
prehensiveness which  allows  highly  accentuated  sacer- 
dotalism and  latitudinarianism  in  the  same  Church  is 
in  the  eyes  of  many  of  them  rather  an  element  of 
strength  than  of  weakness. 

Few  men  have  watched  the  religious  tendencies  of 
the  time  with  a  keener  eye  than  Cardinal  Newman, 
and  no  man  hated  with  a  more  intense  hatred  the 
latitudinarian  tendencies  which  he  witnessed.  His 
judgment  of  their  effect  on  the  Establishment  is  very 
remarkable.  In  a  letter  to  his  friend  Isaac  Williams 
he  says  :  '  Everything  I  hear  makes  me  fear  that  lati- 
tudinarian opinions  are  spreading  furiously  in  the 
Church  of  England.  I  grieve  deeply  at  it.  The 
Anglican  Church  has  been  a  most  useful  breakwater 
against  Scepticism.  The  time  might  come  when  you, 
as  well  as  I,  might  expect  that  it  would  be  said  above, 
""Why  cumbereth  it  the  ground  ?"  but  at  present  it 
upholds  far  more  truth  in  England  than  any  other 
form  of  religion  would,  and  than  the  Catholic  Eoman 
Church  could.  But  what  I  fear  is  that  it  is  tending  to 
a  powerful  Establishment  teaching  direct  error,  and 


224  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

more  powerful  than  it  has  ever  been  ;  thrice  powerful 
because  it  does  teach  error/1 

It  is,  however,  of  course,  evident  that  the  latitude 
of  opinion  which  may  be  reasonably  claimed  by  the 
clergy  of  a  Church  encumbered  with  many  articles 
and  doctrinal  formularies  is  not  unlimited,  and  each 
man  must  for  himself  draw  the  line.  The  fact,  too, 
that  the  Church  is  an  Established  Church  imposes 
some  special  obligations  on  its  ministers.  It  is  their 
first  duty  to  celebrate  public  worship  in  such  a  form 
that  all  members  of  the  Church  of  England  may  be 
able  to  join  in  it.  Whatever  interpretations  may  be 
placed  upon  the  ceremonies  of  the  Church,  those  cere- 
monies, at  least,  should  be  substantially  the  same.  A 
stranger  who  enters  a  church  which  he  has  never  before 
seen  should  be  able  to  feel  that  he  is  certain  of  finding 
public  worship  intelligibly  and  decently  performed,  as 
in  past  generations  it  has  been  celebrated  in  all  sec- 
tions of  the  Established  Church.  It  has,  in  my  opinion, 
been  a  gross  scandal,  following  a  gross  neglect  of  duty, 
that  this  primary  obligation  has  been  defied,  and  that 
services  are  held  in  English  churches  which  would 
have  been  almost  unrecognisable  by  the  churchmen  of 
a  former  generation,  and  which  are  manifest  attempts 
to  turn  the  English  public  worship  into  an  imitation 
of  the  Romish  Mass.  Men  have  a  perfect  right,  within 
the  widest  limits,  to  perform  what  religious  services 
and  to  preach  what  religious  doctrines  they  please,  but 
they  have  not  a  right  to  do  so  in  an  Established 
Church.  

1  Autobiography  of  Isaac  Williams,  p.  132.  This  letter  was 
written  in  1863. 


THE  ESTABLISHED  CHURCH  225 

The  censorship  of  opinions  is  another  thing,  and  in 
the  conditions  of  English  life  it  has  never  been  very 
effectively  maintained.  The  latitude  of  opinion  granted 
in  an  Established  Church  is,  and  ought  to  be,  very 
great,  but  it  is,  I  think,  obvious  that  on  some  topics  a 
greater  degree  of  reticence  of  expression  should  be 
observed  by  a  clergyman  addressing  a  miscellaneous 
audience  from  the  pulpit  of  an  Established  Church 
than  need  be  required  of  him  in  private  life  or  even 
in  his  published  books. 

The  attitude  of  laymen  whose  opinions  have  come 
to  diverge  widely  from^the  Church  formularies  is  less 
perplexing,  and  except  in  as  far  as  the  recent  revival 
of  sacerdotal  pretensions  has  produced  a  reaction, 
there  has,  if  I  mistake  not,  of  late  years  been  a  decided 
tendency  in  the  best  and  most  cultivated  lay  opinion  of 
this  kind  to  look  with  increasing  favour  on  the  Estab- 
lished Church.  The  complete  abolition  of  the  religious 
and  political  disqualifications  which  once  placed  its 
maintenance  in  antagonism  with  the  interests  of  large 
sections  of  the  people  ;  the  abolition  of  the  indelibility 
of  orders  which  excluded  clergymen  who  changed  their 
views  from  all  other  means  of  livelihood  ;  the  greater 
elasticity  of  opinion  permitted  within  its  pale ;  and 
the  elimination  from  the  statute-book  of  nearly  all 
penalties  and  restrictions  resting  solely  upon  ecclesias- 
tical grounds, — have  all  tended  to  diminish  with  such 
men  the  objections  to  the  Church.  It  is  a  Church 
which  does  not  injure  those  who  are  external  to  it,  or 
interfere  with  those  who  are  mere  nominal  adherents. 
It  is  more  and  more  looked  upon  as  a  machine  of  well- 
organised  beneficence,  discharging  efficiently  and  with- 
15 


226  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

out  corruption  functions  of  supreme  utility,  and  con- 
stituting one  of  the  main  sources  of  spiritual  and 
moral  life  in  the  community.  None  of  the  modern 
influences  of  society  can  be  said  to  have  superseded  it. 
Modern  experience  has  furnished  much  evidence  of 
the  insufficiency  of  mere  intellectual  education  if  it  is 
unaccompanied  by  the  education  of  character,  and  it  is 
on  this  side  that  modern  education  is  most  defective. 
"While  it  undoubtedly  makes  men  far  more  keenly  sen- 
sible than  in  the  past  to  the  vast  inequalities  of  human 
lots,  the  habit  of  constantly  holding  out  material 
prizes  as  its  immediate  objects,  and  the  disappearance 
of  those  coercive  methods  of  education  which  once 
disciplined  the  will,  make  it  perhaps  less  efficient  as 
an  instrument  of  moral  amelioration. 

Some  habits  of  thought  also,  that  have  grown  rapidly 
among  educated  men,  have  tended  powerfully  in  the 
same  direction.  The  sharp  contrasts  between  true 
and  false  in  matters  of  theology  have  been  consider- 
ably attenuated.  The  point  of  view  has  changed.  It 
is  believed  that  in  the  history  of  the  world  gross  and 
material  conceptions  of  religion  have  been  not  only 
natural,  but  indispensable,  and  that  it  is  only  by  a 
gradual  process  of  intellectual  evolution  that  the 
masses  of  men  become  prepared  for  higher  and  purer 
conceptions.  Superstition  and  illusion  play  no  small 
part  in  holding  together  the  great  fabric  of  society. 
'  Every  falsehood/  it  has  been  said,  '  is  reduced  to  a 
certain  malleability  by  an  alloy  of  truth/  and,  on  the 
other  hand,  truths  of  the  utmost  moment  are,  in  cer- 
tain stages  of  the  world's  history,  only  operative  when 
they  are  clothed  with  a  vesture  of  superstition.  The 


DISCUSSION  OF  RELIGIOUS  QUESTIONS  £27 

Divine  Spirit  filters  down  to  the  human  heart  through 
a  gross  and  material  medium.  And  what  is  true  of 
different  stages  of  human  history  is  not  less  true  of 
different  contemporary  strata  of  knowledge  and  intel- 
ligence. In  spite  of  democratic  declamation  about  the 
equality  of  man,  it  is  more  and  more  felt  that  the 
same  kind  of  teaching  is  not  good  for  every  one.  Truth, 
when  undiluted,  is  too  strong  a  medicine  for  many 
minds.  Some  things  which  a  highly  cultivated  intel- 
lect would  probably  discard,  and  discard  without  dan- 
ger, are  essential  to  the  moral  being  of  multitudes. 
There  is  in  all  great  religious  systems  something  that 
is  transitory  and  something  that  is  eternal.  Theo- 
logical interpretations  of  the  phenomena  of  outward 
nature  Avhich  surround  and  influence  us,  and  mytho- 
logical narratives  which  have  been  handed  down  to  us 
from  a  remote,  uncritical  and  superstitious  past,  may 
be  transformed  or  discredited  ;  but  there  are  elements 
in  religion  which  have  their  roots  much  less  in  the 
reason  of  man  than  in  his  sorrows  and  his  affections, 
and  are  the  expression  of  wants,  moral  appetites  and 
aspirations  which  are  an  essential,  indestructible  part 
of  his  nature. 

No  one,  I  think,  can  doubt  that  this  way  of  think- 
ing, whether  it  be  right  or  wrong,  has  very  widely 
spread  through  educated  Europe,  and  it  is  a  habit  of 
thought  which  commonly  strengthens  with  age.  Young 
men  discuss  religious  questions  simply  as  questions  of 
truth  or  falsehood.  In  later  life  they  more  frequently 
accept  their  creed  as  a  working  hypothesis  of  life  ;  as 
a  consolation  in  innumerable  calamities ;  as  the  one 
supposition  under  which  life  is  not  a  melancholy  anti- 


228  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

climax;  as  the  indispensable  sanction  of  moral  obli- 
gation ;  as  the  gratification  and  reflection  of  needs, 
instincts  and  longings  which  are  planted  in  the  deepest 
recesses  of  human  nature ;  as  one  of  the  chief  pillars 
on  which  society  rests.  The  proselytising,  the  aggres- 
sive, the  critical  spirit  diminishes.  Very  often  they 
deliberately  turn  away  their  thoughts  from  questions 
which  appear  to  them  to  lead  only  to  endless  contro- 
versy or  to  mere  negative  conclusions,  and  base  their 
moral  life  on  some  strong  unselfish  interest  for  the 
benefit  of  their  kind.  In  active,  useful  and  unselfish 
work  they  find  the  best  refuge  from  the  perplexities 
of  belief  and  the  best  field  for  the  cultivation  of  their 
moral  nature,  and  work  done  for  the  benefit  of  others 
seldom  fails  to  react  powerfully  on  their  own  happi- 
ness. Nor  is  it  always  those  who  have  most  com- 
pletely abandoned  dogmatic  systems  who  are  the  least 
sensible  to  the  moral  beauty  which  has  grown  up 
around  them.  The  music  of  the  village  church, which 
sounds  so  harsh  and  commonplace  to  the  worship- 
per within,  sometimes  fills  with  tears  the  eyes  of  the 
stranger  who  sits  without,  listening  among  the  tombs. 
It  is  difficult  to  say  how  far  the  partial  truce  which 
has  now  fallen  in  England  over  the  great  antagonisms 
of  belief  is  likely  to  be  permanent.  No  one  who 
knows  the  world  can  be  insensible  to  the  fact  that  a 
large  and  growing  proportion  of  those  who  habitually 
attend  our  religious  services  have  come  to  diverge  very 
widely,  though  in  many  different  degrees,  from  the 
beliefs  which  are  expressed  or  implied  in  the  formula- 
ries they  use.  Custom,  fashion,  the  charm  of  old  asso- 
ciations, the  cravings  of  their  own  moral  or  spiritual 


CONFLICTS  OF   FAITH  AND   UNBELIEF  229 

nature,  a  desire  to  support  a  useful  system  of  moral 
training,  to  set  a  good  example  to  their  children,  their 
household,  or  their  neighbours,  keep  them  in  their  old 
place  when  the  beliefs  which  they  profess  with  their 
lips  have  in  a  great  measure  ebbed  away.  I  do  not 
undertake  to  blame  or  to  judge  them.  Individual 
conscience  and  character  and  particular  circumstances 
have,  in  these  matters,  a  decisive  voice.  But  there 
are  times  when  the  difference  between  professed  belief 
and  real  belief  is  too  great  for  endurance,  and  when 
insincerity  and  half-belief  affect  seriously  the  moral 
character  of  a  nation.  '  The  deepest,  nay,  the  only 
theme  of  the  world's  history,  to  which  all  others  are 
subordinate,'  said  Goethe,  '  is  the  conflict  of  faith  and 
unbelief.  The  epochs  in  which  faith,  in  whatever 
form  it  may  be,  prevails,  are  the  marked  epochs  in 
human  history,  full  of  heart-stirring  memories  and  of 
substantial  gains  for  all  after  times.  The  epochs  in 
which  unbelief,  in  whatever  form  it  may  be,  pre- 
vails, even  when  for  the  moment  they  put  on  the 
semblance  of  glory  and  success,  inevitably  sink  into 
insignificance  in  the  eyes  of  posterity,  which  will  not 
waste  its  thoughts  on  things  barren  and  unfruitful.' 

Many  of  my  readers  have  probably  felt  the  force  of 
such  considerations  and  the  moral  problems  which 
they  suggest,  and  there  have  been  perhaps  moments 
when  they  have  asked  themselves  the  question  of  the 

poet — 

Tell  me,  my  soul,  what  is  thy  creed  ? 
Is  it  a  faith  or  only  a  need  ? 

They  will  reflect,  however,  that  a  need,  if  it  be  uni- 
versally felt  when  human  nature  is  in  its  highest  and 


230  THE  MAP  °F  LIFE 

purest  state,  furnishes  some  basis  of  belief,  and  also 
that  no  man  can  venture  to  assign  limits  to  the  trans- 
formations which  religion  may  undergo  without  losing 
its  essence  or  its  power.  Even  in  the  field  of  morals 
these  have  been  very  great,  though  universal  custom 
makes  us  insensible  to  the  extent  to  which  we  have 
diverged  from  a  literal  observance  of  Evangelical  pre- 
cepts. We  should  hardly  write  over  the  Savings  Bank, 
'  Take  no  thought  for  the  morrow,  for  the  morrow  will 
take  thought  for  itself/  or  over  the  Bank  of  England, 
'  Lay  not  up  for  yourselves  treasures  upon  earth/ 
'  How  hardly  shall  a  rich  man  enter  into  the  Kingdom 
of  G-od/  or  over  the  Foreign  Office,  or  the  Law  Court, 
or  the  prison,  (  Eesist  not  evil,'  '  He  that  smiteth  thee 
on  thy  right  cheek  turn  to  him  the  other  also/  '  He 
that  taketh  away  thy  coat  let  him  have  thy  cloak  also.' 
Can  it  be  said  that  the  whole  force  and  meaning  of 
such  words  are  represented  by  an  industrial  society  in 
which  the  formation  of  habits  of  constant  providence 
with  the  object  of  averting  poverty  or  increasing  com- 
fort is  deemed  one  of  the  first  of  duties  and  a  main 
element  and  measure  of  social  progress  ;  in  which  the 
indiscriminate  charity  which  encourages  mendicancy 
and  discourages  habits  of  forethought  and  thrift  is  far 
more  seriously  condemned  than  an  industrial  system 
based  on  the  keenest,  the  most  deadly,  and  often  the 
most  malevolent  competition  ;  in  which  wealth  is  uni- 
versally sought,  and  universally  esteemed  a  good  and 
not  an  evil,  provided  only  it  is  honestly  obtained  and 
wisely  and  generously  used  ;  in  which,  although  wan- 
ton aggression  and  a  violent  and  quarrelsome  temper 
are  no  doubt  condemned,  it  is  esteemed  the  duty  of 


ANGLICAN  SACERDOTALISM  231 

every  good  citizen  to  protect  his  rights  whenever  they 
are  unjustly  infringed  ;  in  which  war  and  the  prepara- 
tion for  war  kindle  the  most  passionate  enthusiasm 
and  absorb  a  vast  proportion  of  the  energies  of  Chris- 
tendom, and  in  which  no  Government  could  remain 
a  week  in  power  if  it  did  not  promptly  resent  the 
smallest  insult  to  the  national  flag  ? 

It  is  a  question  of  a  different  kind  whether  the  sacer- 
dotal spirit  which  has  of  late  years  so  largely  spread  in 
the  English  Church  can  extend  without  producing  a 
violent  disruption.  To  cut  the  tap  roots  of  priestcraft 
was  one  of  the  main  aims  and  objects  of  the  Eeforma- 
tion,  and,  for  reasons  I  have  already  stated,  I  do  not 
believe  that  the  party  which  would  re-establish  it  has 
by  any  means  the  strength  that  has  been  attributed  to 
it.  It  is  true  that  the  Broad  Church  party,  though 
it  reflects  faithfully  the  views  of  large  numbers  of 
educated  laymen,  has  never  exercised  an  influence  in 
active  Church  life  at  all  proportionate  to  the  eminence 
of  its  leading  representatives.  It  is  true  also  that  the 
Evangelical  party  has  in  a  very  remarkable  degree  lost 
its  old  place  in  the  Anglican  pulpit  and  in  religious 
literature,  though  its  tenets  still  form  the  staple  of  the 
preaching  of  the  Salvation  Army  and  of  most  other 
street  preachers  who  exercise  a  real  and  widespread 
influence  over  the  poor.  But  the  middle  and  lower 
sections  of  English  society  are,  I  believe,  at  bottom, 
profoundly  hostile  to  priestcraft ;  and  although  the 
dread  of  Popery  has  diminished,  they  are  very  far  from 
being  ready  to  acquiesce  in  any  attempt  to  restore  the 
dominion  which  their  fathers  discarded. 

In  one  respect,  indeed,  sacerdotalism   in  the  An- 


232  THE  MAP  OF 

glican  Church  is  a  worse  thing  than  in  the  Roman 
Church,  for  it  is  undisciplined  and  unregulated.  The 
history  of  the  Church  abundantly  shows  the  dangers 
that  have  sprung  from  the  Confessional,  though  the 
Roman  Catholic  will  maintain  that  its  habitually  re- 
straining and  moralising  influence  greatly  outweighs 
these  occasional  abuses.  But  in  the  Roman  Church  the 
practice  of  confession  is  carried  on  under  the  most  se- 
vere ecclesiastical  supervision  and  discipline.  Confes- 
sion can  only  be  made  to  a  celibate  priest  of  mature  age, 
who  is  bound  to  secrecy  by  the  most  solemn  oath  ;  who, 
except  in  cases  of  grave  illness,  confesses  only  in  an 
open  church  ;  and  who  has  gone  through  a  long  course 
of  careful  education  specially  and  skilfully  designed 
to  fit  him  for  the  duty.  None  of  these  conditions  are 
observed  in  Anglican  Confession. 

In  other  respects,  indeed,  the  sacerdotal  spirit  is 
never  likely  to  be  quite  the  same  as  in  the  Roman 
Church.  A  married  clergy,  who  have  mixed  in  all  the 
lay  influences  of  an  English  university,  and  who  still 
take  part  in  the  pursuits,  studies,  social  intercourse 
and  amusements  of  laymen,  are  not  likely  to  form  a 
separate  caste  or  to  constitute  a  very  formidable  priest- 
hood. It  is  perhaps  a  little  difficult  to  treat  their  pre- 
tensions with  becoming  gravity,  and  the  atmosphere 
of  unlimited  discussion  which  envelops  Englishmen 
through  their  whole  lives  has  effectually  destroyed  the 
danger  of  coercive  and  restrictive  laws  directed  against 
opinion.  Moral  coercion  and  the  tendency  to  interfere 
by  law  on  moral  grounds  with  the  habits  of  men,  even 
when  those  habits  in  no  degree  interfere  with  others, 
have  increased.  It  is  one  of  the  marked  tendencies  of 


ANGLICAN  SACERDOTALISM  233 

Anglo-Saxon  democracy,  and  it  is  very  far  from  being 
peculiar  to,  or  even  specially  prominent  in,  any  one 
Church.  But  the  desire  to  repress  the  expression  of 
opinions  by  force,  which  for  so  many  centuries  marked 
with  blood  and  fire  the  power  of  mediaeval  sacerdota- 
lism, is  wholly  alien  to  modern  English  nature.  Amid 
all  the  fanaticisms,  exaggerations,  and  superstitions  of 
belief,  this  kind  of  coercion,  at  least,  is  never  likely  to 
be  formidable,  nor  do  I  believe  that  in  the  most  ex- 
treme section  of  the  sacerdotal  clergy  there  is  any 
desire  for  it.  There  has  been  one  significant  contrast 
between  the  history  of  Catholicism  and  Anglicanism 
in  the  present  century.  In  the  Catholic  Church  the 
Ultramontane  element  has  steadily  dominated,  re- 
stricting liberty  of  opinion,  and  important  tenets 
which  were  once  undefined  by  the  Church,  and  on 
which  sincere  Catholics  had  some  latitude  of  opinion, 
have  been  brought  under  the  iron  yoke.  This  is  no 
doubt  largely  due  to  the  growth  of  scepticism  and  in- 
difference, which  have  made  the  great  body  of  edu- 
cated laymen  hostile  or  indifferent  to  the  Church,  and 
have  thrown  its  management  mainly  into  the  hands  of 
the  priesthood  and  the  more  bigoted,  ignorant  and 
narrow-minded  laymen.  But  in  the  Anglican  Church 
educated  laymen  are  much  less  alienated  from  Church 
life,  and  a  tribunal  which  is  mainly  lay  exercises  the 
supreme  authority.  As  a  consequence  of  these  condi- 
tions, although  the  sacerdotal  element  has  greatly  in- 
creased, the  latitude  of  opinion  within  the  Church  has 
steadily  grown. 

At  the  same  time,  it  is  difficult  to  believe  that  seri- 
ous dangers  do  not  await  the  Church  if  the  unprotes- 


234:  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

tantising  influences  that  have  spread  within  it  continue 
to  extend.  It  is  not  likely  that  the  nation  will  con- 
tinue to  give  its  support  to  the  Church  if  that  Church 
in  its  main  tendencies  cuts  itself  off  from  the  Refor- 
mation.  The  conversions  to  Catholicism  in  England, 
though  probably  much  exaggerated,  have  been  very 
numerous,  and  it  is  certainly  not  surprising  that  it 
should  be  so.  If  the  Church  of  Rome  permitted 
Protestantism  to  be  constantly  taught  in  her  pulpits, 
and  Protestant  types  of  worship  and  character  to  be 
habitually  held  up  to  admiration,  there  can  be  little 
doubt  that  many  of  her  worshippers  would  be  shaken. 
If  the  Church  of  England  becomes  in  general  what  it 
already  is  in  some  of  its  churches,  it  is  not  likely  that 
English  public  opinion  will  permanently  acquiesce  in 
its  privileged  position  in  the  State.  If  it  ceases  to  be 
a  Protestant  Church,  it  will  not  long  remain  an  esta- 
blished one,  and  its  disestablishment  would  probably  be 
followed  by  a  disruption  in  which  opinions  would  be 
more  sharply  defined,  and  the  latitude  of  belief  and 
the  spirit  of  compromise  that  now  characterise  our 
English  religious  life  might  be  seriously  impaired. 


CONDITIONS  OF  THE  GAME  OF  LIFE  235 


CHAPTEK  XII 

THE  MAtfAGEMEKT   OF   CHABACTER 

OF  all  the  tasks  which  are  set  before  man  in  life,  the 
education  and  management  of  his  character  is  the  most 
important,  and,  in  order  that  it  should  be  successfully 
pursued,  it  is  necessary  that  he  should  make  a  calm 
and  careful  survey  of  his  own  tendencies,  unblinded 
either  by  the  self-deception  which  conceals  errors  and 
magnifies  excellences,  or  by  the  indiscriminate  pessi- 
mism which  refuses  to  recognise  his  powers  for  good. 
He  must  avoid  the  fatalism  which  would  persuade  him 
that  he  has  no  power  over  his  nature,  and  he  must  also 
clearly  recognise  that  this  power  is  not  unlimited. 
Man  is  like  a  card-player  who  receives  from  Nature  his 
cards — his  disposition,  his  circumstances,  the  strength 
or  weakness  of  his  will,  of  his  mind,  and  of  his  body. 
The  game  of  life  is  one  of  blended  chance  and  skill. 
The  best  player  will  be  defeated  if  he  has  hopelessly 
bad  cards,  but  in  the  long  run  the  skill  of  the  player 
will  not  fail  to  tell.  The  power  of  man  over  his 
character  bears  much  resemblance  to  his  power  over 
his  body.  Men  come  into  the  world  with  bodies  very 
unequal  in  their  health  and  strength  ;  with  hereditary 
dispositions  to  disease  ;  with  organs  varying  greatly  in 
their  normal  condition.  At  the  same  time  a  temperate 
or  intemperate  life,  skilful  or  unskilful  regimen,  phy- 


236  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

sical  exercises  well  adapted  to  strengthen  the  weaker 
parts,  physical  apathy,  vicious  indulgence,  misdirected 
or  excessive  effort,  will  all  in  their  different  ways  alter 
his  bodily  condition  and  increase  or  diminish  his 
chances  of  disease  and  premature  death.  The  power 
of  will  over  character  is,  however,  stronger,  or,  at  least, 
wider  than  its  power  over  the  body.  There  are  organs 
which  lie  wholly  beyond  its  influence  ;  there  are  dis- 
eases over  which  it  can  exercise  no  possible  influence, 
but  there  is  no  part  of  our  moral  constitution  which 
we  cannot  in  some  degree  influence  or  modify. 

It  has  often  seemed  to  me  that  diversities  of  taste 
throw  much  lighi  on  the  basis  of  character.  Why  is 
it  that  the  same  dish  gives  one  man  keen  pleasure  and 
to  another  is  loathsome  and  repulsive  ?  To  this  simple 
question  no  real  answer  can  be  given.  It  is  a  fact  of 
our  nature  that  one  fruit,  or  meat,  or  drink  will  give 
pleasure  to  one  palate  and  none  whatever  to  another. 
At  the  same  time,  while  the  original  and  natural  differ- 
ence is  undoubted,  there  are  many  differences  which  are 
wholly  or  largely  due  to  particular  and  often  transitory 
causes.  Dishes  have  an  attraction  or  the  reverse  be- 
cause they  are  associated  with  old  recollections  or  habits. 
Habit  will  make  a  Frenchman  like  his  melon  with  salt, 
while  an  Englishman  prefers  it  with  sugar.  An  old 
association  of  ideas  will  make  an  Englishman  shrink 
from  eating  a  frog  or  a  snail,  though  he  would  probably 
like  each  if  he  ate  it  without  knowing  it,  and  he  could 
easily  learn  to  do  so.  The  kind  of  cookery  which 
one  age  or  one  nation  generally  likes,  another  age  or 
another  nation  finds  distasteful.  The  eye  often  gov- 
erns the  taste,  and  a  dish  which,  when  seen,  excites 


ANALOGIES  OF  TASTE  AND  CHARACTER         237 

intense  repulsion,  would  have  no  such  repulsion  to  a 
blind  man.  Every  one  who  has  moved  much  about 
the  world,  and  especially  in  uncivilised  countries,  will 
get  rid  of  many  old  antipathies,  will  lose  the  fastidi- 
ousness of  his  taste,  and  will  acquire  new  and  genuine 
tastes.  The  original  innate  difference  is  not  wholly 
destroyed,  but  it  is  profoundly  and  variously  modified. 
These  changes  of  taste  are  very  analogous  to  what 
takes  place  in  our  moral  dispositions.  They  are  for 
the  most  part  in  themselves  simply  external  to  morals, 
though  there  is  at  least  one  conspicuous  exception. 
Many — it  is  to  be  hoped  most — men  might  spend  their 
lives  with  full  access  to  intoxicating  liquors  without 
even  the  temptation  of  getting  drunk.  Apart  from  all 
considerations  of  religion,  morals,  social,  physical,  or 
intellectual  consequences,  they  abstain  from  doing  so 
simply  as  a  matter  of  taste.  With  other  men  the 
pleasure  of  excessive  drinking  is  such  that  it  requires 
an  heroic  effort  of  the  will  to  resist  it.  There  are  men 
who  not  only  are  so  constituted  that  it  is  their  greatest 
pleasure,  but  who  are  even  born  with  a  craving  for 
drink.  In  no  form  is  the  terrible  fact  of  heredity 
more  clearly  or  more  tragically  displayed.  Many,  too, 
who  had  originally  no  such  craving  gradually  acquire 
it :  sometimes  by  mere  social  influence,  which  makes 
excessive  drinking  the  habit  of  their  circle  ;  more  fre- 
quently through  depression  or  sorrow,  which  gives 
men  a  longing  for  some  keen  pleasure  in  which  they 
can  forget  themselves ;  or  through  the  jaded  habit  of 
mind  and  body  which  excessive  work  produces,  or 
through  the  dreary,  colourless,  joyless  surroundings  of 
sordid  poverty.  Drink  and  the  sensual  pleasures,  if 


238  THE  MA?  OF  LIFE 

viciously  indulged,  produce  (doubtless  through  physi- 
cal causes)  an  intense  craving  for  their  gratification. 
This,  however,  is  not  the  case  with  all  our  pleasures. 
Many  are  keenly  enjoyed  when  present,  yet  not  seri- 
ously missed  when  absent.  Sometimes,  too,  the  effect 
of  over-indulgence  is  to  vitiate  and  deaden  the  palate, 
so  that  what  was  once  pleasing  ceases  altogether  to  be 
an  object  of  desire.  This,  too,  has  its  analogue  in 
other  things.  We  have  a  familiar  example  in  the  ex- 
cessive novel-reader,  who  begins  with  a  kind  of  mental 
intoxication,  and  who  ends  with  such  a  weariness  that 
he  finds  it  a  serious  effort  to  read  the  books  which 
were  once  his  strongest  temptation. 

Tastes  of  the  palate  also  naturally  change  with  age 
and  with  the  accompanying  changes  of  the  body.  The 
schoolboy  who  bitterly  repines  because  the  smallness 
of  his  allowance  restricts  his  power  of  buying  tarts  and 
sweetmeats  will  probably  grow  into  a  man  who,  with 
many  shillings  in  his  pocket,  daily  passes  the  confec- 
tioner's shop  without  the  smallest  desire  to  enter  it. 

It  is  evident  that  there  is  a  close  analogy  between 
these  things  and  that  collection  of  likes  and  dislikes, 
moral  and  intellectual,  which  forms  the  primal  base 
of  character,  and  which  mainly  determines  the  com- 
plexion of  our  lives.  As  Marcus  Aurelius  said  :  '  "Who 
can  change  the  desires  of  man  ? '  That  which  gives 
the  strongest  habitual  pleasure,  whether  it  be  innate  or 
acquired,  will  in  the  great  majority  of  cases  ultimately 
dominate.  Certain  things  will  always  be  intensely 
pleasurable,  and  certain  other  things  indifferent  or 
repellent,  and  this  magnetism  is  the  true  basis  of  cha- 
racter, and  with  the  majority  of  men  it  mainly  deter- 


MISTAKES  IN  EDUCATION  239 

mines  conduct.  By  the  associations  of  youth  and  by 
other  causes  these  natural  likings  and  dislikings  may 
be  somewhat  modified,  but  even  in  youth  our  power  is 
very  limited,  and  in  later  life  it  is  much  less.  No  real 
believer  in  free-will  will  hold  that  man  is  an  absolute 
slave  to  his  desires.  No  man  who  knows  the  world 
will  deny  that  with  average  man  the  strongest  passion 
or  desire  will  prevail — happy  when  that  desire  is  not  a 
vice. 

Passions  weaken,  but  habits  strengthen,  with  age, 
and  it  is  the  great  task  of  youth  to  set  the  current  of 
habit  and  to  form  the  tastes  which  are  most  produc- 
tive of  happiness  in  life.  Here,  as  in  most  other 
things,  opposite  exaggerations  are  to  be  avoided. 
There  is  such  a  thing  as  looking  forward  too  rigidly 
and  too  exclusively  to  the  future — to  a  future  that 
may  never  arrive.  This  is  the  great  fault  of  the  over- 
educationist,  who  makes  early  life  a  burden  and  a  toil, 
and  also  of  those  who  try  to  impose  on  youth  the  tastes 
and  pleasures  of  the  man.  Youth  has  its  own  plea- 
sures, which  will  always  give  it  most  enjoyment,  and  a 
happy  youth  is  in  itself  an  end.  It  is  the  time  when 
the  power  of  enjoyment  is  most  keen,  and  it  is  often 
accompanied  by  such  extreme  sensitiveness  that  the 
sufferings  of  the  child  for  what  seem  the  most  trivial 
causes  probably  at  least  equal  in  acuteness,  though 
not  in  durability,  the  sufferings  of  a  man.  Many  a 
parent  standing  by  the  coffin  of  his  child  has  felt  with 
bitterness  how  much  of  the  measure  of  enjoyment  that 
shoi't  life  might  have  known  has  been  cut  off  by  an 
injudicious  education.  And  even  if  adult  life  is  at- 
tained, the  evils  of  an  unhappy  childhood  are  seldom 


240  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

wholly  compensated.  The  pleasures  of  retrospect  are 
among  the  most  real  we  possess,  and  it  is  around  our 
childish  days  that  our  fondest  associations  naturally 
cluster.  An  early  over-strain  of  our  powers  often 
leaves  behind  it  lasting  distortion  or  weakness,  and  a 
sad  childhood  introduces  into  the  character  elements 
of  morbidness  and  bitterness  that  will  not  disappear. 

The  first  great  rule  in  judging  of  pleasures  is  that 
so  well  expressed  by  Seneca  :  '  Sic  prsesentibus  utaris 
voluptatibus  ut  futuris  non  noceas ' —  so  to  use  present 
pleasures  as  not  to  impair  future  ones.  Drunkenness, 
sensuality,  gambling,  habitual  extravagance  and  self- 
indulgence,  if  they  become  the  pleasures  of  youth,  will 
almost  infallibly  lead  to  the  ruin  of  a  life.  Pleasures 
that  are  in  themselves  innocent  lose  their  power  of 
pleasing  if  they  become  the  sole  or  main  object  of 
pursuit. 

In  starting  in  life  we  are  apt  to  attach  a  dispropor- 
tionate value  to  tastes,  pleasures,  and  ideals  that  can 
only  be  even  approximately  satisfied  in  youth,  health, 
and  strength.  "We  have,  I  think,  an  example  of  this 
in  the  immense  place  which  athletic  games  and  out- 
of-door  sports  have  taken  in  modern  English  life. 
They  are  certainly  not  things  to  be  condemned.  They 
have  the  direct  effect  of  giving  a  large  amount  of 
intense  and  innocent  pleasure,  and  they  have  indirect 
effects  which  are  still  more  important.  In  so  far  as 
they  raise  the  level  of  physical  strength  and  health, 
and  dispel  the  morbidness  of  temperament  which  is  so 
apt  to  accompany  a  sedentary  life  and  a  diseased  or 
inert  frame,  they  contribute  powerfully  to  lasting 
happiness.  They  play  a  considerable  part  in  the 


ATHLETIC  SPORTS  241 

formation  of  friendships  which  is  one  of  the  best  fruits 
of  the  period  between  boyhood  and  mature  manhood. 
Some  of  them  give  lessons  of  courage,  perseverance, 
energy,  self-restraint,  and  cheerful  acquiescence  in 
disappointment  and  defeat  that  are  of  no  small  value 
in  the  formation  of  character,  and  when  they  are  not 
associated  with  gambling  they  have  often  the  inesti- 
mable advantage  of  turning  young  men  away  from 
vicious  pleasures.  At  the  same  time  it  can  hardly  be 
doubted  that  they  hold  an  exaggerated  prominence  in 
the  lives  of  young  Englishmen  of  the"  present  genera- 
tion. It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  among  large  sec- 
tions of  the  students  at  our  Universities,  and  at  a  time 
when  intellectual  ambition  ought  to  be  most  strong 
and  when  the  acquisition  of  knowledge  is  most  impor- 
tant, proficiency  in  cricket  or  boating  or  football  is 
more  prized  than  any  intellectual  achievement.  I  have 
heard  a  good  judge,  who  had  long  been  associated 
with  English  University  life,  express  his  opinion  that 
during  the  last  forty  or  fifty  years  the  relative  intel- 
lectual position  of  the  upper  and  middle  classes  in 
England  has  been  materially  changed,  owing  to  the 
disproportioned  place  which  outdoor  amusements  have 
assumed  in  the  lives  of  the  former.  It  is  the  impres- 
sion of  very  competent  judges  that  a  genuine  love, 
reverence  and  enthusiasm  for  intellectual  things  is  less 
common  among  the  young  men  of  the  present  day  than 
it  was  in  the  days  of  their  fathers.  The  predominance 
of  the  critical  spirit  which  chills  enthusiasm,  and  still 
more  the  cram  system  which  teaches  young  men  to 
look  on  the  prizes  that  are  to  be  won  by  competitive 
examinations  as  the  supreme  end  of  knowledge,  no 
16 


242  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

doubt  largely  account  for  this,  but  much  is  also  due 
to  the  extravagant  glorification  of  athletic  games. 

If  we  compare  the  class  of  pleasures  I  have  described 
with  the  taste  for  reading  and  kindred  intellectual 
pleasures,  the  superiority  of  the  latter  is  very  mani- 
fest. To  most  young  men,  it  is  true,  a  game  will 
probably  give  at  least  as  much  pleasure  as  a  book. 
Nor  must  we  measure  the  pleasure  of  reading  alto- 
gether by  the  language  of  the  genuine  scholar.  It  is 
not  every  one  who  could  say,  like  Gibbon,  that  he 
would  not  exchange  his  love  of  reading  for  all  the 
wealth  of  the  Indies.  Very  many  would  agree  with 
him ;  but  Gibbon  was  a  man  with  an  intense  natural 
love  of  knowledge,  and  the  weak  health  of  his  early 
life  intensified  this  predominant  passion.  But  while 
the  tastes  which  require  physical  strength  decline  or 
pass  with  age,  that  for  reading  steadily  grows.  It  is 
illimitable  in  the  vistas  of  pleasure  it  opens ;  it  is  one 
of  the  most  easily  satisfied,  one  of  the  cheapest,  one  of 
the  least  dependent  on  age,  seasons,  and  the  varying 
conditions  of  life.  It  cheers  the  invalid  through  years 
of  weakness  and  confinement ;  illuminates  the  dreary 
hours  of  the  sleepless  night ;  stores  the  mind  with 
pleasant  thoughts,  banishes  ennui,  fills  up  the  unoc- 
cupied interstices  and  enforced  leisures  of  an  active 
life  ;  makes  men  for  a  time  at  least  forget  their  anxie- 
ties and  sorrows,  and  if  it  is  judiciously  managed  it  is 
one  of  the  most  powerful  means  of  training  character 
and  disciplining  and  elevating  thought.  It  is  eminent- 
ly a  pleasure  which  is  not  only  good  in  itself  but  en- 
hances many  others.  By  extending  the  range  of  our 
knowledge,  by  enlarging  our  powers  of  sympathy  and 


SUPERIORITY  OF  INTELLECTUAL  TASTES    £43 

appreciation,  it  adds  incalculably  to  the  pleasures  of 
society,  to  the  pleasures  of  travel,  to  the  pleasures  of 
•art,  to  the  interest  we  take  in  the  vast  variety  of  events 
which  form  the  great  world-drama  around  us. 

To  acquire  this  taste  in  early  youth  is  one  of  the 
best  fruits  of  education,  and  it  is  especially  useful 
when  the  taste  for  reading  becomes  a  taste  for  know- 
ledge, and  when  it  is  accompanied  by  some  specialisa- 
tion and  concentration  and  by  some  exercise  of  the 
powers  of  observation.  '  Many  tastes  and  one  hobby' 
is  no  bad  ideal  to  be  aimed  at.  The  boy  who  learns  to 
collect  and  classify  fossils,  or  flowers,  or  insects,  who 
has  acquired  a  love  for  chemical  experiments,  who  has 
begun  to  form  a  taste  for  some  particular  kind  or  de- 
partment of  knowledge,  has  laid  the  foundation  of 
much  happiness  in  life. 

In  the  selection  of  pleasures  and  the  cultivation  of 
tastes  much  wisdom  is  shown  in  choosing  in  such  a 
way  that  each  should  form  a  complement  to  the 
others ;  that  different  pleasures  should  not  clash,  but 
rather  cover  different  areas  and  seasons  of  life ;  that 
each  should  tend  to  correct  faults  or  deficiencies  of 
character  which  the  others  may  possibly  produce. 
The  young  man  who  starts  in  life  with  keen  literary 
tastes  and  also  with  a  keen  love  of  out-of-door  sports, 
and  who  possesses  the  means  of  gratifying  each,  has 
perhaps  provided  himself  with  as  many  elements  of 
happiness  as  mere  amusements  can  ever  furnish.  One 
set  of  pleasures,  however,  often  kills  the  capacity  for 
enjoying  others,  and  some  which  in  themselves  are  ab- 
solutely innocent,  by  blunting  the  enjoyment  of  better 
things,  exercise  an  injurious  influence  on  character. 


244  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

Habitual  novel-reading,  for  example,  often  destroys 
the  taste  for  serious  literature,  and  few  things  tend  so 
much  to  impair  a  sound  literary  perception  and  to 
vulgarise  the  character  as  the  habit  of  constantly 
saturating  the  mind  with  inferior  literature,  even 
when  that  literature  is  in  no  degree  immoral.  Some- 
times an  opposite  evil  may  be  produced.  Excessive 
fastidiousness  greatly  limits  our  enjoyments,  and  the 
inestimable  gift  of  extreme  concentration  is  often 
dearly  bought.  The  well-known  confession  of  Darwin 
that  his  intense  addiction  to  science  had  destroyed  his 
power  of  enjoying  even  the  noblest  imaginative  litera- 
ture represents  a  danger  to  which  many  men  who  have 
achieved  much  in  the  higher  and  severer  forms  of 
scientific  thought  are  subject.  Such  men  are  usually 
by  their  original  temperament,  and  become  still  more 
by  acquired  habit,  men  of  strong,  narrow,  concen- 
trated natures,  whose  thoughts,  like  a  deep  and  rapid 
stream  confined  in  a  restricted  channel,  flow  with  re- 
sistless energy  in  one  direction.  It  is  by  the  sacrifice 
of  versatility  that  they  do  so  much,  and  the  result  is 
amply  sufficient  to  justify  it.  But  it  is  a  real  sacrifice, 
depriving  them  of  many  forms  both  of  capacity  and 
of  enjoyment. 

The  same  pleasures  act  differently  on  different  cha- 
racters, especially  on  the  differences  of  character  that 
accompany  difference  of  sex.  I  have  myself  no  doubt 
that  the  movement  which  in  modern  times  has  so 
widely  opened  to  women  amusements  that  were  once 
almost  wholly  reserved  for  men  has  been  on  the  whole 
a  good  one.  It  has  produced  a  higher  level  of  health, 
stronger  nerves,  and  less  morbid  characters,  and  it  has 


TWO  FORMS  OF  EDUCATION  245 

given  keen  and  innocent  enjoyment  to  many  who  from 
their  circumstances  and  surroundings  once  found 
their  lives  very  dreary  and  insipid.  Yet  most  good  ob- 
servers will  agree  that  amusements  which  have  no  kind 
of  evil  effect  on  men  often  in  some  degree  impair  the 
graces  or  characters  of  women,  and  that  it  is  not  quite 
with  impunity  that  one  sex  tries  to  live  the  life  of  the 
other.  Some  pleasures,  too,  exercise  a  much  larger 
influence  than  others  on  the  general  habits  of  life.  It 
is  not  too  much  to  say  that  the  invention  of  the  bicy- 
cle, bringing  with  it  an  immense  increase  of  outdoor 
life,  of  active  exercise,  and  of  independent  habits,  has 
revolutionised  the  course  of  many  lives.  Some  amuse- 
ments which  may  in  themselves  be  but  little  valued 
are  wisely  cultivated  as  helping  men  to  move  more 
easily  in  different  spheres  of  society,  or  as  providing  a 
resource  for  old  age.  Talleyrand  was  not  wholly 
wrong  in  his  reproach  to  a  man  who  had  never  learned 
to  play  whist :  '  What  an  unhappy  old  age  you  are 
preparing  for  yourself  ! ' 

I  have  already  mentioned  the  differences  that  may 
be  found  in  different  countries  and  ages,  in  the  relative 
importance  attached  to  external  circumstances  and  to 
dispositions  of  mind  as  means  of  happiness,  and  the 
tendency  in  the  more  progressive  nations  to  seek 
their  happiness  mainly  in  improved  circumstances. 
Another  great  line  of  distinction  is  between  education 
that  acts  specially  upon  the  desires,  and  that  which 
acts  specially  upon  the  will.  The  great  perfection  of 
modern  systems  of  education  is  chiefly  of  the  former 
kind.  Its  object  is  to  make  knowledge  and  virtue  at- 
tractive, and  therefore  an  object  of  desire.  It  does  so 


246  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

partly  by  presenting  them  in  the  most  alluring  forms, 
partly  by  connecting  them  as  closely  as  possible  with 
rewards.  The  great  principle  of  modern  moral  edu- 
cation is  to  multiply  innocent  and  beneficent  inter- 
ests, tastes,  and  ambitions.  It  is  to  make  the  path  of 
virtue  the  natural,  the  easy,  the  pleasing  one  ;  to  form 
a  social  atmosphere  favourable  to  its  development, 
making  duty  and  interest  as  far  as  possible  coincident. 
Vicious  pleasures  are  combated  by  the  multiplication 
of  healthy  ones,  and  by  a  clearer  insight  into  the  con- 
sequences of  each.  An  idle  or  inert  character  is 
stimulated  by  holding  up  worthy  objects  of  interest 
and  ambition,  and  it  is  the  aim  alike  of  the  teacher 
and  the  legislator  to  make  the  grooves  and  channels  of 
life  such  as  tend  naturally  and  easily  towards  good. 
But  the  education  of  the  will — the  power  of  breasting 
the  current  of  the  desires  and  doing  for  long  periods 
what  is  distasteful  and  painful — is  much  less  cultivated 
than  in  some  periods  of  the  past. 

Many  things  contribute  to  this.  The  rush  and 
hurry  of  modern  existence  and  the  incalculable  multi- 
tude and  variety  of  fleeting  impressions  that  in  the 
great  centres  of  civilisation  pass  over  the  mind  are 
very  unfavourable  to  concentration,  and  perhaps  still 
more  to  the  direct  cultivation  of  mental  states.  Amuse- 
ments, and  the  appetite  for  amusements,  have  greatly 
extended.  Life  has  become  more  full.  The  long 
leisures,  the  introspective  habits,  the  vita  contempla- 
tiva  so  conspicuous  in  the  old  Catholic  discipline, 
grow  very  rare.  Thoughts  and  interests  are  more 
thrown  on  the  external ;  and  the  comfort,  the  luxury, 
the  softness,  the  humanity  of  modern  life,  and  espe- 


CATHOLIC  ASCETIC  TRAINING  247 

cially  of  modern  education,  make  men  less  inclined  to 
face  the  disagreeable  and  endure  the  painful. 

The  starting-point  of  education  is  thus  silently 
changing.  Perhaps  the  extent  of  the  change  is  best 
shown  by  the  old  Catholic  ascetic  training.  Its  su- 
preme object  was  to  discipline  and  strengthen  the  will  : 
to  accustom  men  habitually  to  repudiate  the  pleasura- 
ble and  accept  the  painful ;  to  mortify  the  most  natu- 
ral tastes  and  affections ;  to  narrow  and  weaken  the 
empire  of  the  desires ;  to  make  men  wholly  indepen- 
dent of  outward  circumstances  ;  to  preach  self-renun- 
ciation as  itself  an  end. 

Men  will  always  differ  about  the  merits  of  this  sys- 
tem. In  my  own  opinion  it  is  difficult  to  believe  that 
in  the  period  of  Catholic  ascendency  the  moral  stan- 
dard was,  on  the  whole  and  in  its  broad  lines,  higher 
than  our  own.  The  repression  of  the  sensual  instincts 
was  the  central  fact  in  ascetic  morals  ;  but,  even  tested 
by  this  test,  it  is  at  least  very  doubtful  whether  it  did 
not  fail.  The  withdrawal  from  secular  society  of  the 
best  men  did  much  to  restrict  the  influences  for  good, 
and  the  habit  of  aiming  at  an  unnatural  ideal  was  not 
favourable  to  common,  everyday,  domestic  virtue.  The 
history  of  sacerdotal  and  monastic  celibacy  abundantly 
shows  how  much  vice  that  might  easily  have  been 
avoided  grew  out  of  the  adoption  of  an  unnatural 
standard,  and  how  often  it  led  in  those  who  had  at- 
tained it  to  grave  distortions  of  character.  Affections 
and  impulses  which  were  denied  their  healthy  and 
natural  vent  either  became  wholly  atrophied  or  took 
other  and  morbid  forms,  and  the  hard,  cruel,  self- 
righteous  fanatic,  equally  ready  to  endure  or  to  inflict 


248  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

suffering,  was  a  not  unnatural  result.  But  whatever 
may  have  been  its  failures  and  its  exaggerations,  Catho- 
lic asceticism  was  at  least  a  great  school  for  disciplining 
and  strengthening  the  will,  and  the  strength  and  dis- 
cipline of  the  will  form  one  of  the  first  elements  of 
virtue  and  of  happiness. 

In  the  grave  and  noble  type  of  character  which  pre- 
vailed in  English  and  American  life  during  the  seven- 
teenth century,  the  strength  of  will  was  conspicuously 
apparent.  Life  was  harder,  simpler,  more  serious, 
and  less  desultory  than  at  present,  and  strong  convic- 
tions shaped  and  fortified  the  character.  '  It  was  an 
age/ says  a  great  American  writer,  'when  what  we 
call  talent  had  far  less  consideration  than  now,  but  the 
massive  materials  which  produce  stability  and  dignity 
of  character  a  great  deal  more.  The  people  possessed 
by  hereditary  right  the  quality  of  reverence,  which,  in 
their  descendants,  if  it  survive  at  all,  exists  in  smaller 
proportion  and  with  a  vastly  diminished  force  in  the 
selection  and  estimate  of  public  men.  The  change  may 
be  for  good  or  ill,  and  is  partly,  perhaps,  for  both.  In 
that  old  day  the  English  settler  on  these  rude  shores, 
having  left  king,  nobles,  and  all  degrees  of  awful  rank 
behind,  while  still  the  faculty  and  necessity  of  rever- 
ence were  strong  in  him,  bestowed  it  on  the  white  hair 
and  venerable  brow  of  age  ;  on  long-tried  integrity ; 
on  solid  wisdom  and  sad-coloured  experience  ;  on  en- 
dowments of  that  grave  and  weighty  order  which  give 
the  idea  of  permanence  and  come  under  the  general 
definition  of  respectability.  These  primitive  states- 
men, therefore, — Bradstreet,  Endicott,  Dudley,  Belling- 
ham,  and  their  compeers, — who  were  elevated  to  power 


VARIETIES  OF   COURAGE  249 

by  the  early  choice  of  the  people,  seem  to  have  been 
not  often  brilliant,  but  distinguished  by  a  ponderous 
sobriety  rather  than  activity  of  intellect.  They  had 
fortitude  and  self-reliance,  and  in  time  of  difficulty  or 
peril  stood  up  for  the  welfare  of  the  State  like  a  line 
of  cliffs  against  a  tempestuous  tide/1 

The  power  of  the  will,  however,  even  when  it  exists 
in  great  strength,  is  often  curiously  capricious.  His- 
tory is  full  of  examples  of  men  who  in  great  trials  and 
emergencies  have  acted  with  admirable  and  persever- 
ing heroism,  yet  who  readily  succumbed  to  private 
vices  or  passions.  The  will  is  not  the  same  as  the  de- 
sires, but  the  connection  between  them  is  very  close. 
A  love  for  a  distant  end ;  a  dominating  ambition  or 
passion,  will  call  forth  long  perseverance  in  wholly  dis- 
tasteful work  in  men  whose  will  in  other  fields  of  life 
is  lamentably  feeble.  Every  one  who  has  embarked 
with  real  earnestness  in  some  extended  literary  enter- 
prise which  as  a  whole  represents  the  genuine  bent  of 
his  talent  and  character  will  be  struck  with  his  excep- 
tional power  of  traversing  perseveringly  long  sections 
of  this  enterprise  for  which  he  has  no  natural  aptitude 
and  in  which  he  takes  no  pleasure.  Military  courage 
is  with  most  men  chiefly  a  matter  of  temperament  and 
impulse,  but  there  have  been  conspicuous  instances  of 
great  soldiers  and  sailors  who  have  frankly  acknow- 
ledged that  they  never  lost  in  battle  an  intense  consti- 
tutional shrinking  from  danger,  though  by  the  force 
of  a  strong  will  they  never  suffered  this  timidity  to 
govern  or  to  weaken  them.  With  men  of  very  vivid 


1  Hawthorne's  Scarlet  Letter,  ch.  xxii. 


250  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

imagination  there  is  a  natural  tendency  to  timidity  as 
they  realise  more  than  ordinary  men  danger  and  suf- 
fering. On  the  other  hand  it  has  often  been  noticed 
how  calmly  the  callous,  semi-torpid  temperament  that 
characterises  many  of  the  worst  criminals  enables  them 
to  meet  death  upon  the  gallows. 

In  courage  itself,  too,  there  are  many  varieties.  The 
courage  of  the  soldier  and  the  courage  of  the  martyr 
are  not  the  same,  and  it  by  no  means  follows  that  either 
would  possess  that  of  the  other.  Not  a  few  men  who 
are  capable  of  leading  a  forlorn  hope,  and  who  never 
shrink  from  the  bayonet  and  the  cannon,  have  shown 
themselves  incapable  of  bearing  the  burden  of  respon- 
sibility, enduring  long-continued  suspense,  taking  deci- 
sions which  might  expose  them  to  censure  or  unpopu- 
larity. The  active  courage  that  encounters  and  delights 
in  danger  is  often  found  in  men  who  show  no  courage 
in  bearing  suffering,  misfortune,  or  disease.  In  pas- 
sive courage  the  woman  often  excels  the  man  as  much 
as  in  active  courage  the  man  exceeds  the  woman.  Even 
in  active  courage  familiarity  does  much  ;  sympathy  and 
«  enthusiasm  play  great  and  often  very  various  parts, 
and  curious  anomalies  may  be  found.  The  Teutonic 
and  the  Latin  races  are  probably  equally  distinguished 
for  their  military  courage,  but  there  is  a  clear  difference 
between  them  in  the  nature  of  that  courage  and  in  the 
circumstances  or  conditions  under  which  it  is  usually 
most  splendidly  displayed.  The  danger  incurred  by 
the  gladiator  was  far  greater  than  that  which  was  en- 
countered by  the  soldier,  but  Tacitus1  mentions  that 

1  Hist.  ii.  35. 


SELF-RESTRAINT   AND   SELF-SACRIFICE  251 

when  some  of  the  bravest  gladiators  were  employed  in 
the  Roman  army  they  were  found  wholly  inefficient, 
as  they  were  much  less  capable  than  the  ordinary 
soldiers  of  military  courage. 

The  circumstances  of  life  are  the  great  school  for 
forming  and  strengthening  the  will,  and  in  the  exces- 
sive competition  and  struggle  of  modern  industrialism 
this  school  is  not  wanting.  But  in  ethical  and  edu- 
cational systems  the  value  of  its  cultivation  is  often 
insufficiently  felt.  Yet  nothing  which  is  learned  in 
youth  is  so  really  valuable  as  the  power  and  the  habit 
of  self-restraint,  of  self-sacrifice,  of  energetic,  continu- 
ous and  concentrated  effort.  In  the  best  of  us  evil 
tendencies  are  always  strong  and  the  path  of  duty  is 
often  distasteful.  With  the  most  favourable  wind  and 
tide  the  bark  will  never  arrive  at  the  harbour  if  it  has 
ceased  to  obey  the  rudder.  A  weak  nature  which  is 
naturally  kindly,  affectionate  and  pure,  which  floats 
through  life  under  the  impulse  of  the  feelings,  with  no 
real  power  of  self-restraint,  is  indeed  not  without  its 
charm,  and  in  a  well-organised  society,  with  good  sur- 
roundings and  few  temptations,  it  may  attain  a  high 
degree  of  beauty  ;  but  its  besetting  failings  will  steadily 
grow;  without  fortitude,  perseverance  and  principle, 
it  has  no  recuperative  energy,  and  it  will  often  end  in 
a  moral  catastrophe  which  natures  in  other  respects 
much  less  happily  compounded  would  easily  avoid. 
Nothing  can  permanently  secure  our  moral  being  in 
the  absence  of  a  restraining  will  basing  itself  upon  a 
strong  sense  of  the  difference  between  right  and  wrong, 
upon  the  firm  groundwork  of  principle  and  honour. 

Experience  abundantly  shows  how  powerfully  the 


252  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

steady  action  of  such  a  will  can  operate  upon  innate 
defects,  converting  the  constitutional  idler  into  the 
indefatigably  industrious,  checking,  limiting  and 
sometimes  almost  destroying  constitutional  irritability 
and  vicious  passions.  The  natural  power  of  the  will 
in  different  men  differs  greatly,  but  there  is  no  part  of 
our  nature  which  is  more  strengthened  by  exercise  or 
more  weakened  by  disuse.  The  minor  faults  of  cha- 
racter it  can  usually  correct ;  but  when  a  character  is 
once  formed,  and  when  its  tendencies  are  essentially 
vicious,  radical  cure  or  even  considerable  amelioration 
is  very  rare.  Sometimes  the  strong  influence  of  religion 
effects  it.  Sometimes  it  is  effected  by  an  illness,  a 
great  misfortune,  or  the  total  change  of  associations 
that  follows  emigration.  Marriage  perhaps  more  fre- 
quently than  any  other  ordinary  agency  in  early  life 
transforms  or  deeply  modifies  the  character,  for  it  puts 
an  end  to  powerful  temptations  and  brings  with  it  a 
profound  change  of  habits  and  motives,  associations 
and  desires.  But  we  have  all  of  us  encountered  in  life 
depraved  natures  in  which  vicious  self-indulgence  had 
attained  such  a  strength,  and  the  recuperating  and  mo- 
ralising elements  were  so  fatally  weak,  that  we  clearly 
perceive  the  disease  to  be  incurable,  and  that  it  is 
hardly  possible  that  any  change  of  circumstances  could 
even  seriously  mitigate  it.  In  what  proportion  this  is 
the  fault  or  the  calamity  of  the  patient  no  human 
judgment  can  accurately  tell. 

Few  things  are  sadder  than  to  observe  how  fre- 
quently the  inheritance  of  great  wealth  or  even  of 
easy  competence  proves  the  utter  and  speedy  ruin  of 
a  young  man,  except  when  the  administration  of  a 


THE  IDLE  RICH  253 

large  property,  or  the  necessity  of  carrying  on  a  great 
business,  or  some  other  propitious  circumstance  pro- 
vides him  with  a  clearly  defined  sphere  of  work.  The 
majority  of  men  will  gladly  discard  distasteful  work 
which  their  circumstances  do  not  require  ;  and  in  the 
absence  of  steady  work,  and  in  the  possession  of  all  the 
means  of  gratification,  temptations  assume  an  over- 
whelming strength,  and  the  springs  of  moral  life  are 
fatally  impaired.  It  can  hardly  be  doubted  that  the 
average  longevity  in  this  small  class  is  far  less  than  in 
that  of  common  men,  and  that  even  when  natural 
capacity  is  considerable  it  is  more  rarely  displayed.  To 
a  man  with  a  real  desire  for  work  such  circumstances 
are  indeed  of  inestimable  value,  giving  him  the  leisure 
and  the  opportunities  of  applying  himself  without 
distraction  and  from  early  manhood  to  the  kind  of 
work  that  is  most  suited  to  him.  Sometimes  this 
takes  place,  but  much  more  frequently  vicious  tastes 
or  a  simply  idle  or  purposeless  life  are  the  result. 
Sometimes,  indeed,  a  large  amount  of  desultory  and 
unregulated  energy  remains,  but  the  serious  labour  of 
concentration  is  shunned  and  no  real  result  is  attained. 
The  stream  is  there,  but  it  turns  no  mill. 

Most  men  escape  this  danger  through  the  circum- 
stances of  life  which  make  serious  and  steady  work 
necessary  to  their  livelihood,  and  in  the  majority  of 
cases  the  kind  of  work  is  so  clearly  marked  out  that 
they  have  little  choice.  When  some  choice  exists,  the 
rule  which  I  have  already  laid  down  should  not  be 
forgotten.  Men  should  choose  their  work  not  only 
according  to  their  talents  and  their  opportunities,  but 
also,  as  far  as  possible,  according  to  their  characters. 


254  THE  MAP  OF  L1FE 

They  should  select  the  kinds  which  are  most  fitted  to 
bring  their  best  qualities  into  exercise,  or  should  at 
least  avoid  those  which  have  a  special  tendency  to  de- 
velop or  encourage  their  dominant  defects.  On  the 
whole  it  will  be  found  that  men's  characters  are  much 
more  deeply  influenced  by  their  pursuits  than  by  their 
opinions. 

The  choice  of  work  is  one  of  the  great  agencies  for 
the  management  of  character  in  youth.  The  choice 
of  friends  is  another.  In  the  words  of  Burke,  '  The 
law  of  opinion  ....  is  the  strongest  principle  in  the 
composition  of  the  frame  of  the  human  mind,  and 
more  of  the  happiness  and  unhappiness  of  man  reside 
in  that  inward  principle  than  in  all  external  circum- 
stances put  together/ l  This  is  true  of  the  great  public 
opinion  of  an  age  or  country  which  envelops  us  like  an 
atmosphere,  and  by  its  silent  pressure  steadily  and 
almost  insensibly  shapes  or  influences  the  whole  texture 
of  our  lives.  It  is  still  more  true  of  the  smaller  circle 
of  our  intimacies  which  will  do  more  than  almost  any 
other  thing  to  make  the  path  of  virtue  easy  or  diffi- 
cult. How  large  a  proportion  of  the  incentives  to  a 
noble  ambition,  or  of  the  first  temptations  to  evil,  may 
be  traced  to  an  early  friendship,  and  it  is  often  in  the 
little  circle  that  gathers  round  a  college  table  that  the 
measure  of  life  is  first  taken,  and  ideals  and  enthusi- 
asms are  formed  which  give  a  colour  to  all  succeeding 
years.  To  admire  strongly  and  to  admire  wisely  is, 
indeed,  one  of  the  best  means  of  moral  improvement. 

Very  much,  however,  of  the  management  of  charac- 


1  Speech  on  the  Impeachment  of  Warren  Hastings. 


POWER  OF  WILL  OVER  THOUGHTS      255 

ter  can  only  be  accomplished  by  the  individual  him- 
self acting  in  complete  isolation  upon  his  own  nature 
and  in  the  chamber  of  his  own  mind.  The  discipline 
of  thought ;  the  establishment  of  an  ascendency  of  the 
will  over  our  courses  of  thinking ;  the  power  of  casting 
away  morbid  trains  of  reflection  and  turning  resolutely 
to  other  subjects  or  aspects  of  life  ;  the  power  of  con- 
centrating the  mind  vigorously  on  a  serious  subject 
and  pursuing  continuous  trains  of  thought, — form  per- 
haps the  best  fruits  of  judicious  self-education.  Its 
importance,  indeed,  is  manifold.  In  the  higher  walks 
of  intellect  this  power  of  mental  concentration  is  of 
supreme  value.  Newton  is  said  to  have  ascribed 
mainly  to  an  unusual  amount  of  it  his  achievements 
in  philosophy,  and  it  is  probable  that  the  same  might 
be  said  by  most  other  great  thinkers.  In  the  pursuit 
of  happiness  hardly  anything  in  external  circumstances 
is  so  really  valuable  as  the  power  of  casting  off  worry, 
turning  in  times  of  sorrow  to  healthy  work,  taking 
habitually  the  brighter  view  of  things.  It  is  in  such 
exercises  of  will  that  we  chiefly  realise  the  truth  of  the 
lines  of  Tennyson  : 

Oh,  well  for  him  whose  will  is  strong, 
He  suffers,  but  he  will  not  suffer  long. 

In  moral  culture  it  is  not  less  important  to  acquire 
the  power  of  discarding  the  demoralising  thoughts  and 
imaginations  that  haunt  so  many,  and  meeting  temp- 
tation by  calling  up  purer,  higher  and  restraining 
thoughts.  The  faculty  we  possess  of  alternating  and 
intensifying  our  own  motives  by  bringing  certain 
thoughts,  or  images,  or  subjects  into  the  foreground 


256  THE  MAF  OF  LIFE 

and  throwing  others  into  the  background,  is  one  of 
our  chief  means  of  moral  progress.  The  cultivation 
of  this  power  is  a  far  wiser  thing  than  the  cultivation 
of  that  introspective  habit  of  mind  which  is  perpetu- 
ally occupied  with  self-analysis  or  self-examination, 
and  which  is  constantly  and  remorsefully  dwelling 
upon  past  faults  or  upon  the  morbid  elements  in  our 
nature.  In  the  morals  which  are  called  minor,  though 
they  affect  deeply  the  happiness  of  mankind,  the  im- 
portance of  the  government  of  thought  is  not  less 
apparent.  The  secret  of  good  or  bad  temper  is  our 
habitual  tendency  to  dwell  upon  or  to  fly  from  the 
irritating  and  the  inevitable.  Content  or  discontent, 
amiability  or  the  reverse,  depend  mainly  upon  the  dis- 
position of  our  minds  to  turn  specially  to  the  good  or 
to  the  evil  sides  of  our  own  lot,  to  the  merits  or  to  the 
defects  of  those  about  us.  A  power  of  turning  our 
thoughts  from  a  given  subject,  though  not  the  sole  ele- 
ment in  self-control,  is  at  least  one  of  its  most  import- 
ant ingredients. 

This  power  of  the  will  over  the  thoughts  is  one  in 
which  men  differ  enormously.  Thus — to  take  the 
most  familiar  instance — the  capacity  for  worry,  with 
all  the  exaggerations  and  distortions  of  sentiment  it 
implies,  is  very  evidently  a  constitutional  thing,  and 
where  it  exists  to  a  high  degree  neither  reason  nor  will 
can  effectually  cure  it.  Such  a  man  may  have  the 
clearest  possible  intellectual  perception  of  its  useless- 
ness  and  its  folly.  Yet  it  will  often  banish  sleep  from 
his  pillow,  follow  him  with  an  habitual  depression  in 
all  the  walks  of  life,  and  make  his  measure  of  happi- 
ness much  less  than  that  of  others  who  with  far  less 


POWER  OF  THROWING   OFF  SORROW  257 

propitious  circumstances  are  endued  by  nature  with 
the  gift  of  lightly  throwing  off  the  past  and  looking 
forward  with  a  sanguine  and  cheerful  spirit  to  the 
future.  It  is  hardly  possible  to  exaggerate  the  differ- 
ent degrees  of  suffering  the  same  trouble  will  produce 
in  different  men,  and  it  is  probable  that  the  happiness 
of  a  life  depends  much  less  on  the  amount  of  pleasura- 
ble or  painful  things  that  are  encountered,  than  upon 
the  turn  of  thought  which  dwells  chiefly  on  one  or  on 
the  other.  It  is  very  evident  that  buoyancy  of  tem- 
perament is  not  a  thing  that  increases  with  civilisa- 
tion or  education.  It  is  mainly  physical.  It  is  greatly 
influenced  by  climate  and  by  health,  and  where  no 
very  clear  explanation  of  this  kind  can  be  given  it  is 
a  thing  in  which  different  nations  differ  greatly.  Few 
good  observers  will  deny  that  persistent  and  concen- 
trated will  is  more  common  in  Great  Britain  than  in 
Ireland,  but  that  the  gift  of  a  buoyant  temperament 
is  more  common  among  Irishmen  than  among  Eng- 
lishmen. Yet  it  co-exists  in  the  national  character 
with  a  strong  vein  of  very  genuine  melancholy,  and  it 
is  often  accompanied  by  keen  sensitiveness  to  suffer- 
ing. This  combination  is  a  very  common  one.  Every 
one  who  has  often  stood  by  a  deathbed  knows  how 
frequently  it  will  be  found  that  the  mourner  who  is 
utterly  prostrated  by  grief,  and  whose  tears  flow  in 
torrents,  casts  off  her  grief  much  more  completely  and 
much  sooner  than  one  whose  tears  refuse  to  flow  and 
who  never  for  a  moment  loses  her  self-command. 

But  though  natural  temperament  enables  one  man 
to  do  without  effort  what  another  man  with  the  utmost 
effort  fails  to  accomplish,  there  are   some  available 
17 


258  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

remedies  that  can  palliate  the  disease.  Society,  travel 
and  other  amusements  can  do  something,  and  such 
words  as  'diversion'  and  ' distraction '  embalm  the 
truth  that  the  chief  virtue  of  many  pleasures  is  to 
divert  or  distract  our  minds  from  painful  thoughts. 
Pascal  considered  this  a  sign  of  the  misery  and  the 
baseness  of  our  nature,  and  he  describes  as  a  deplora- 
ble spectacle  a  man  who  rose  from  his  bed  weighed 
down  with  anxiety  and  grave  sorrow,  and  who  could 
for  a  time  forget  it  all  in  the  passionate  excitement  of 
the  chase.  But,  in  truth,  the  possession  of  such  a 
power — weak  and  transient  though  it  be — is  one  of  the 
great  alleviations  of  the  lot  of  man.  Keligion,  with 
its  powerful  motives  and  its  wide  range  of  consolatory 
and  soothing  thoughts  and  images,  has  much  power  in 
this  sphere  when  it  does  not  take  a  morbid  form  and 
intensify  instead  of  alleviating  sorrow  ;  and  the  steady 
exercise  of  the  will  gives  us  some  real  and  increasing, 
though  imperfect,  control  over  the  current  of  our  feel- 
ings as  well  as  of  our  ideas. 

Often  the  power  of  dreaming  comes  to  our  aid. 
When  we  cannot  turn  from  some  painfully  pressing 
thought  to  serious  thinking  of  another  kind,  we  can 
give  the  reins  to  our  imaginations  and  soon  lose  our- 
selves in  ideal  scenes.  There  are  men  who  live  so 
habitually  in  a  world  of  imagination  that  it  becomes 
to  them  a  second  life,  and  their  strongest  temptations 
and  their  keenest  pleasures  belong  to  it.  To  them 
'common  life  seems  tapestried  with  dreams.'  Not 
unfrequently  they  derive  a  pleasure  from  imagined  or 
remembered  enjoyments  which  the  realities  themselves 
would  fail  to  give.  They  select  in  imagination  certain 


INFLUENCE  OF  IMAGINATION  ON  LIFE  259 

aspects  or  portions,  throw  others  into  the  shade,  in- 
tensify or  attenuate  impressions,  transform  and  beautify 
the  reality  of  things.  The  power  of  filling  their  ex- 
istence with  happy  day-dreams  is  their  most  precious 
luxury.  They  feel  the  full  force  of  the  pathetic  lines 
of  an  Irish  poet :  * 

Sweet  thoughts,  bright  dreams  my  comfort  be, 

I  have  no  joy  beside  ; 
Oh,  throng  around  and  be  to  me 

Power,  country,  fame  and  bride. 

To  train  this  side  of  our  nature  is  no  small  part  of 
the  management  of  character.  There  is  a  great  sphere 
of  happiness  and  misery  which  is  almost  or  altogether 
unconnected  with  surrounding  circumstances,  and  de- 
pends upon  the  thoughts,  images,  hopes  and  fears  on 
which  our  minds  are  chiefly  concentrated.  The  exer- 
cise of  this  form  of  imagination  has  often  a  great  influ- 
ence, both  intellectually  and  morally.  In  childhood, 
as  every  teacher  knows,  it  is  often  a  distracting  in- 
fluence, and  with  men  also  it  is  sometimes  an  obstacle 
to  concentrated  reasoning  and  observation,  turning  the 
mind  away  from  sober  and  difficult  thought ;  but 
there  is  a  kind  of  dreaming  which  is  eminently  con- 
ducive to  productive  thought.  It  enables  a  man  to 
place  himself  so  completely  in  other  conditions  of 
thought  and  life  that  the  ideas  connected  with  those 
conditions  rise  spontaneously  in  the  mind.  A  true 
and  vivid  realisation  of  characters  and  circumstances 
unlike  his  own  is  acquired.  The  mere  fact  of  placing 

1  Davis. 


260  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

himself  in  other  circumstances  and  investing  himself 
with  imaginary  powers  and  functions  sometimes  sug- 
gests possible  remedies  for  great  human  ills,  and  gives 
clearer  views  of  the  proportions,  difficulties  and  condi- 
tions of  governments  and  societies.  Much  discovery 
in  science  has  been  due  to  this  power  of  the  imagina- 
tion to  realise  conditions  that  are  unseen,  and  the 
habit  or  faculty  of  living  other  lives  than  our  own  is 
scarcely  less  valuable  to  the  historian,  and  even  to  the 
statesman,  than  to  the  poet  or  the  novelist  or  the 
dramatist.  It  gives  the  magic  touch  which  changes 
mere  lifeless  knowledge  into  realisation. 

Its  effect  upon  character  also  is  great  and  various. 
No  one  can  fail  to  recognise  the  depraving  influence  of 
a  corrupt  imagination  ;  and  the  corruption  may  spring, 
not  only  from  suggestions  from  without,  but  from 
those  which  rise  spontaneously  in  our  minds.  Nor  is 
even  the  imagination  which  is  wholly  pure  absolutely 
without  its  dangers.  It  is  a  well-known  law  of  our 
nature  that  an  excessive  indulgence  in  emotion  that 
does  not  end  in  action  tends  rather  to  deaden  than 
to  stimulate  the  moral  nerve.  It  has  been  often 
noticed  that  the  exaggerated  sentimentality  which 
sheds  passionate  tears  over  the  fictitious  sorrows  of 
a  novel  or  a  play  is  no  certain  sign  of  a  benevolent 
and  unselfish  nature,  and  is  quite  compatible  with 
much  indifference  to  real  sorrows  and  much  indisposi- 
tion to  make  efforts  for  their  alleviation.  It  is,  how- 
ever, no  less  true,  as  Dugald  Stewart  says,  that  the 
apparent  coldness  and  selfishness  of  men  are  often  sim- 
ply due  to  a  want  of  that  kind  of  imagination  which 
enables  us  to  realise  sufferings  with  which  we  have 


THE  AGE  OF   MYTHS  261 

never  been  brought  into  direct  contact,  and  that  once 
this  power  of  realisation  is  acquired,  the  coldness  is 
speedily  dispelled.  Nor  can  it  be  doubted  that  in  the 
management  of  thought,  the  dream  power  often  plays 
a  most  important  part  in  alleviating  human  suffering; 
illuminating  cheerless  and  gloomy  lives,  and  breaking 
the  chain  of  evil  or  distressing  thoughts. 

The  immense  place  which  the  literature  of  fiction 
holds  in  the  world  shows  how  widely  some  measure  of 
it  is  diffused,  and  how  large  an  amount  of  time  and 
talent  is  devoted  to  its  cultivation.  It  is  probable, 
however,  that  it  is  really  stronger  in  the  earlier  and 
uncultivated  than  in  the  later  stages  of  humanity,  as 
it  is  more  vivid  in  childhood  and  in  youth  than  in  ma- 
ture life.  'A  child/  as  an  American  writer1  has  well 
said,  '  can  afford  to  sleep  without  dreaming ;  he  has 
plenty  of  dreams  without  sleep.'  The  childhood  of 
the  world  is  also  eminently  an  age  of  dreams.  There 
are  stages  of  civilisation  in  which  the  dream  world 
blends  so  closely  with  the  world  of  realities,  in  which 
the  imagination  so  habitually  and  so  spontaneously 
transfigures  or  distorts,  that  men  become  almost  inca- 
pable of  distinguishing  between  the  real  and  the  ficti- 
tious. This  is  the  true  age  of  myths  and  legends ; 
and  there  are  strata  in  contemporary  society  in  which 
something  of  the  same  conditions  is  reproduced. 
'  To  those  who  do  not  read  or  write  much,'  says  an 
acute  observer,  '  even  in  our  days,  dreams  are  much 
more  real  than  to  those  who  are  continually  exercising 
the  imagination.  .  .  .  Since  I  have  been  occupied 

'Cable. 


262  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

with  literature  my  dreams  have  lost  all  vividness  and 
are  less  real  than  the  shadows  of  the  trees  ;  they  do  not 
deceive  me  even  in  my  sleep.  At  every  hour  of  the 
day  I  am  accustomed  to  call  up  figures  at  will  before 
my  eyes,  which  stand  out  well  defined  and  coloured  to 
the  very  hue  of  their  faces.  .  .  .  The  less  literary 
a  people  the  more  they  believe  in  dreams  ;  the  disap- 
pearance of  superstition  is  not  due  to  the  cultivation  of 
reason  or  the  spread  of  knowledge,  but  purely  to  the 
mechanical  effect  of  reading,  which  so  perpetually  puts 
figures  and  aerial  shapes  before  the  mental  gaze  that 
in  time  those  that  occur  naturally  are  thought  no 
more  of  than  those  conjured  into  existence  by  a  book. 
It  is  in  far-away  country  places,  where  people  read  very 
little,  that  they  see  phantoms  and  consult  the  oracles 
of  fate.  Their  dreams  are  real.'1 

The  last  point  I  would  notice  in  the  management  of 
character  is  the  importance  of  what  may  be  called 
moral  safety-valves.  One  of  the  most  fatal  mistakes  in 
education  is  the  attempt  which  is  so  often  made  by  the 
educator  to  impose  his  own  habits  and  tastes  on  natures 
that  are  essentially  different.  It  is  common  for  men 
of  lymphatic  temperaments,  of  studious,  saintly,  and 
retiring  tastes,  to  endeavor  to  force  a  high-spirited 
young  man  starting  in  life  into  their  own  mould — to 
prescribe  for  him  the  cast  of  tastes  and  pursuits  they 
find  most  suited  for  themselves,  forgetting  that  such 
an  ideal  can  never  satisfy  a  wholly  different  nature, 
and  that  in  aiming  at  it  a  kind  of  excellence  which 
might  easily  have  been  attained  is  missed.  This  is  one 


1  Jefferies,  Field  and  Hedgerow,  p.  242. 


MORAL  SAFETY-VALVES  263 

of  the  evils  that  very  frequently  arise  when  the  educa- 
tion of  boys  after  an  early  age  is  left  in  the  hands  of 
women.  It  is  the  true  explanation  of  the  fact,  which 
has  so  often  been  noticed,  that  children  of  clergymen, 
or  at  least  children  educated  on  a  rigidly  austere,  puri- 
tanical system,  so  often  go  conspicuously  to  the  bad. 
Such  an  education,  imposed  on  a  nature  that  is  unfit 
for  it,  generally  begins  by  producing  hypocrisy,  and 
not  unfrequently  ends  by  a  violent  reaction  into  vice. 
There  is  no  greater  mistake  in  education  than  to  as- 
sociate virtue  in  early  youth  with  gloomy  colours  and 
constant  restrictions,  and  few  people  do  more  mischief 
in  the  world  than  those  who  are  perpetually  inventing 
crimes.  In  circles  where  smoking,  or  field  sports,  or 
going  to  the  play,  or  reading  novels,  or  indulging  in 
any  boisterous  games  or  in  the  most  harmless  Sunday 
amusements,  are  treated  as  if  they  were  grave  moral 
offences,  young  men  constantly  grow  up  who  end  by 
looking  on  grave  moral  offences  as  not  worse  than 
these  things.  They  lose  all  sense  of  proportion  and 
perspective  in  morals,  and  those  who  are  always  strain- 
ing at  gnats  are  often  peculiarly  apt  to  swallow  camels. 
It  is  quite  right  that  men  who  have  formed  for  them- 
selves an  ideal  of  life  of  the  kind  that  I  have  described 
should  steadily  pursue  it,  but  it  is  another  thing  to 
impose  it  upon  others,  and  to  prescribe  it  as  of  general 
application.  By  teaching  as  absolutely  wrong  things 
that  are  in  reality  only  culpable  in  their  abuse  or  their 
excess,  they  destroy  the  habit  of  moderate  and  re- 
strained enjoyment,  and  a  period  of  absolute  prohibi- 
tion is  often  followed  by  a  period  of  unrestrained 
.license. 


264  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

The  truth  is  there  are  elements  in  human  nature 
which  many  moralists  might  wish  to  be  absent,  as  they 
are  very  easily  turned  in  the  direction  of  vice,  but 
which  at  the  same  time  are  inherent  in  our  being,  and, 
if  rightly  understood,  are  essential  elements  of  human 
progress.  The  love  of  excitement  and  adventure  ;  the 
fierce  combative  instinct  that  delights  in  danger,  in 
struggle,  and  even  in  destruction  ;  the  restless  ambi- 
tion that  seeks  with  an  insatiable  longing  to  better  its 
position  and  to  climb  heights  that  are  yet  unsealed  ; 
the  craving  for  some  enjoyment  which  not  merely 
gives  pleasure  but  carries  with  it  a  thrill  of  passion, — 
all  this  lies  deep  in  human  nature  and  plays  a  great 
part  in  that  struggle  for  existence,  in  that  harsh  and 
painful  process  of  evolution  by  which  civilisation  is 
formed,  faculty  stimulated  to  its  full  development,  and 
human  progress  secured.  In  the  education  of  the 
individual,  as  in  the  education  of  the  race,  the  true 
policy  in  dealing  with  these  things  is  to  find  for  them 
a  healthy,  useful,  or  at  least  harmless  sphere  of  action. 
In  the  chemistry  of  character  they  may  ally  themselves 
with  the  most  heroic  as  well  as  with  the  worst  parts  of 
our  nature,  and  the  same  passion  for  excitement 
which  in  one  man  will  take  the  form  of  ruinous  vice, 
in  another  may  lead  to  brilliant  enterprise,  while  in  a 
third  it  may  be  turned  with  no  great  difficulty  into 
channels  which  are  very  innocent. 

Take,  for  example,  the  case  to  which  I  have  already 
referred,  of  a  perfectly  commonplace  boy  who,  on 
coming  of  age,  finds  himself  with  a  competence  that 
saves  him  from  the  necessity  of  work  ;  and  who  has  no 
ambition,  literary  or  artistic  taste,  love  of  work,  inter- 


MORAL  SAFETY-VALVES  265 

est  in  politics,  religious  or  philanthropic  earnestness, 
or  special  talent.  What  will  become  of  him  ?  In  pro- 
bably the  majority  of  cases  ruin,  disease,  and  an  early 
death  lie  before  him.  He  seeks  only  for  amusement 
and  excitement,  and  three  fatal  temptations  await  him 
— drink,  gambling,  and  women.  If  he  falls  under  the 
dominion  of  these,  or  even  of  one  of  them,  he  almost 
infallibly  wrecks  either  his  fortune  or  his  constitution, 
or  both.  It  is  perfectly  useless  to  set  before  him  high 
motives  or  ideals,  or  to  incite  him  to  lines  of  life  for 
which  he  has  no  aptitude  and  which  can  give  him  no 
pleasure.  What,  then,  can  save  him  ?  Most  frequently 
a  happy  marriage  ;  but  even  if  he  is  fortunate  enough 
to  attain  this,  it  will  probably  only  be  after  several 
years,  and  in  those  years  a  fatal  bias  is  likely  to  be 
given  to  his  life  which  can  never  be  recovered.  Yet 
experience  shows  that  in  cases  of  this  kind  a  keen  love 
of  sport  can  often  do  much.  With  his  gun  and  with 
his  hunter  he  finds  an  interest,  an  excitement,  an 
employment  which  may  not  be  particularly  noble,  but 
which  is  at  least  sufficiently  absorbing,  and  is  not  in- 
jurious either  to  his  morals,  his  health,  or  his  fortune. 
It  is  no  small  gain  if,  in  the  competition  of  pleasures, 
country  pleasures  take  the  place  of  those  town  plea- 
sures which,  in  such  cases  as  I  have  described,  usually 
mean  pleasures  of  vice. 

Nor  is  it  by  any  means  only  in  such  cases  that  field 
sports  prove  a  great  moral  safety-valve,  scattering  mor- 
bid tastes  and  giving  harmless  and  healthy  vent  to 
turns  of  character  or  feeling  which  might  very  easily  be 
converted  into  vice.  Among  the  influences  that  form 
the  character  of  the  upper  classes  of  Englishmen  they 


266  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

have  a  great  part,  and  in  spite  of  the  exaggerations 
and  extravagances  that  often  accompany  them,  few 
good  observers  will  doubt  that  they  have  an  influence 
for  good.  However  much  of  the  Philistine  element 
there  may  be  in  the  upper  classes  in  England,  how- 
ever manifest  may  be  their  limitations  and  their  de- 
fects, there  can  be  little  doubt  that  on  the  whole  the 
conditions  of  English  life  have  in  this  sphere  proved 
successful.  There  are  few  better  working  types  within 
the  reach  of  commonplace  men  than  that  of  an  Eng- 
lish gentleman  with  his  conventional  tastes,  standard 
of  honour,  religion,  sympathies,  ideals,  opinions  and 
instincts.  He  is  not  likely  to  be  either  a  saint  or  a 
philosopher,  but  he  is  tolerably  sure  to  be  both  an 
honourable  and  a  useful  man,  with  a  fair  measure  of 
good  sense  and  moderation,  and  with  some  disposition 
towards  public  duties.  A  crowd  of  out-of-door  amuse- 
ments and  interests  do  much  to  dispel  his  peccant  hu- 
mours and  to  save  him  from  the  stagnation  and  the 
sensuality  that  have  beset  many  foreign  aristocracies. 
County  business  stimulates  his  activity,  mitigates  his 
class  prejudices,  and  forms  his  judgment :  and  his 
standard  of  honour  will  keep  him  substantially  right 
amid  much  fluctuation  of  opinions. 

The  reader,  from  his  own  experience  of  individual 
characters,  will  supply  other  illustrations  of  the  lines 
of  thought  I  am  enforcing.  Some  temptations  that 
beset  us  must  be  steadily  faced  and  subdued.  Others 
are  best  met  by  flight — by  avoiding  the  thoughts  or 
scenes  that  call  them  into  activity ;  while  other  ele- 
ments of  character  which  we  might  wish  to  be  away 
are  often  better  treated  in  the  way  of  marriage — that 


OUR  POWER  OVER  OURSELVES  267 

is  by  a  judicious  regulation  and  harmless  application — 
than  in  the  way  of  asceticism  or  attempted  suppres- 
sion. It  is  possible  for  men — if  not  in  educating  them- 
selves, at  least  in  educating  others — to  pitch  their  stan- 
dard and  their  ideal  too  high.  What  they  have  to  do 
is  to  recognise  their  own  qualities  and  the  qualities  of 
those  whom  they  influence  as  they  are,  and  endeavour 
to  use  these  usually  very  imperfect  materials  to  the 
best  advantage  for  the  formation  of  useful,  honour- 
able and  happy  lives.  According  to  the  doctrine  of 
this  book,  man  comes  into  the  world  with  a  free  will. 
But  his  free  will,  though  a  real  thing,  acts  in  a  nar- 
rower circle  and  with  more  numerous  limitations  than 
he  usually  imagines.  He  can,  however,  do  much  so 
to  dispose,  regulate  and  modify  the  circumstances  of 
his  life  as  to  diminish  both  his  sufferings  and  his 
temptations,  and  to  secure  for  himself  the  external 
conditions  of  a  happy  and  upright  life,  and  he  can  do 
something  by  judicious  and  persevering  self -culture  to 
improve  those  conditions  of  character  on  which,  more 
than  on  any  external  circumstances,  both  happine^ 
and  virtue  depend. 


268  THE  MAP  OF 


CHAPTER  XIII 

MONEY 

I  DO  not  think  that  I  can  better  introduce  the  few 
pages  which  I  propose  to  write  on  the  relations  of 
money  to  happiness  and  to  character  than  by  a  preg- 
nant passage  from  one  of  the  essays1  of  Sir  Henry 
Taylor.  '  So  manifold  are  the  bearings  of  money  upon 
the  lives  and  characters  of  mankind,  that  an  insight 
which  should  search  out  the  life  of  a  man  in  his  pecu- 
niary relations  would  penetrate  into  almost  every 
cranny  of  his  nature.  He  who  knows  like  St.  Paul 
both  how  to  spare  and  how  to  abound  has  a  great 
knowledge  ;  for  if  we  take  account  of  all  the  virtues 
with  which  money  is  mixed  up — honesty,  justice,  gene- 
rosity, charity,  frugality,  forethought,  self-sacrifice, 
and  of  their  correlative  vices,  it  is  a  knowledge  which 
goes  near  to  cover  the  length  and  breadth  of  human- 
ity, and  a  right  measure  in  getting,  saving,  spending, 
giving,  taking,  lending,  borrowing  and  bequeathing 
would  almost  argue  a  perfect  man/ 

There  are  few  subjects  on  which  the  contrast  be- 
tween the  professed  and  the  real  beliefs  of  men  is 
greater  than  in  the  estimate  of  money.  More  than  any 
other  single  thing  it  is  the  object  and  usually  the  life- 
long object  of  human  effort,  and  any  accession  of 

1  Notes  on  Life. 


RELATION  OF  MONET  TO  HAPPINESS  269 

wealth  is  hailed  by  the  immense  majority  of  mankind 
as  an  unquestionable  blessing.  Yet  if  we  were  to  take 
literally  much  of  the  teaching  we  have  all  heard  we 
should  conclude  that  money,  beyond  what  is  required 
for  the  necessaries  of  life,  is  far  more  a  danger  than  a 
good ;  that  it  is  the  pre-eminent  source  of  evil  and 
temptation  ;  that  one  of  the  first  duties  of  man  is  to 
emancipate  himself  from  the  love  of  it,  which  can  only 
mean  from  any  strong  desire  for  its  increase. 

In  this,  as  in  so  many  other  things,  the  question  is 
largely  one  of  degree.  No  one  who  knows  what  is 
meant  by  the  abject  poverty  to  which  a  great  propor- 
tion of  the  human  race  is  condemned  will  doubt  that 
at  least  such  an  amount  of  money  as  raises  them  from 
this  condition  is  one  of  the  greatest  of  human  blessings. 
Extreme  poverty  means  a  lifelong  struggle  for  the 
bare  means  of  living  ;  it  means  a  life  spent  in  wretched 
hovels,  with  insufficient  food,  clothes  and  firing,  in 
enforced  and  absolute  ignorance ;  an  existence  almost 
purely  animal,  with  nearly  all  the  higher  faculties  of 
man  undeveloped.  There  is  a  far  greater  real  differ- 
ence in  the  material  elements  of  happiness  between  the 
condition  of  such  men  and  that  of  a  moderately  pros- 
perous artizan  in  a  civilised  country  than  there  is  be- 
tween the  latter  and  the  millionaire. 

Money,  again,  at  least  to  such  an  amount  as  enables 
men  to  be  in  some  considerable  degree  masters  of  their 
own  course  in  life,  is  also  on  the  whole  a  great  good. 
In  this  second  degree  it  has  less  influence  on  happiness 
than  health,  and  probably  than  character  and  domestic 
relations,  but  its  influence  is  at  least  very  great. 
Money  is  a  good  thing  because  it  can  be  transformed 


270  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

into  many  other  things.  It  gives  the  power  of  educa- 
tion which  in  itself  does  much  to  regulate  the  character 
and  opens  out  countless  tastes  and  spheres  of  enjoy- 
ment. It  saves  its  possessor  from  the  fear  of  a  desti- 
tute old  age  and  of  the  destitution  of  those  he  may 
leave  behind,  which  is  the  harrowing  care  of  multi- 
tudes who  cannot  be  reckoned  among  the  very  poor. 
It  enables  him  to  intermit  labour  in  times  of  sickness 
and  sorrow  and  old  age,  and  in  those  extremes  of  heat 
and  cold  during  which  active  labour  is  little  less  than 
physical  piun.  It  gives  him  and  it  gives  those  he  loves 
increased  chances  of  life  and  increased  hope  of  recovery 
in  sickness.  Few  of  the  pains  of  penury  are  more 
acute  than  those  of  a  poor  man  who  sees  his  wife  or 
children  withering  away  through  disease,  and  who 
knows  or  believes  that  better  food  or  medical  attend- 
ance, or  a  surgical  operation,  or  a  change  of  climate, 
might  have  saved  them.  Money,  too,  even  when  it 
does  not  dispense  with  work,  at  least  gives  a  choice  of 
work  and  longer  intervals  of  leisure.  For  the  very 
poor  this  choice  hardly  exists,  or  exists  only  within 
very  narrow  limits,  and  from  want  of  culture  or  want 
of  leisure  some  of  their  most  marked  natural  aptitudes 
are  never  called  into  exercise.  With  the  comparatively 
rich  this  is  not  the  case.  Money  enables  them  to  select 
the  course  of  life  which  is  congenial  to  their  tastes 
and  most  suited  to  their  natural  talents,  or,  if  their 
strongest  taste  cannot  become  their  work,  money  at 
least  gives  them  some  leisure  to  cultivate  it.  The 
command  of  leisure,  when  it  is  fruitful  leisure  spent 
in  congenial  work,  is  to  many,  perhaps,  the  greatest 
boon  it  can  bestow.  '  Riches/  said  Charles  Lamb, '  are 


RELATION  OF  MONEY  TO  HAPPINESS  271 

chiefly  good  because  they  give  us  Time/  '  All  one's 
time  to  oneself  !  for  which  alone  I  rankle  with  envy  at 
the  rich.  Books  are  good  and  pictures  are  good,  and 
money  to  buy  them  is  therefore  good — but  to  buy  time — 
in  other  words,  life  !  * 

To  some  men  money  is  chiefly  valuable  because  it 
makes  it  possible  for  them  not  to  think  of  money.  Ex- 
cept in  the  daily  regulation  of  ordinary  life,  it  enables 
them  to  put  aside  cares  which  are  to  them  both  ha- 
rassing and  distasteful,  and  to  concentrate  their 
thoughts  and  energies  on  other  objects.  An  assured 
competence  also,  however  moderate,  gives  men  the 
priceless  blessing  of  independence.  There  are  walks 
of  life,  there  are  fields  of  ambition,  there  are  classes  of 
employments  in  which  between  inadequate  remunera- 
tion and  the  pressure  of  want  on  the  one  side,  and  the 
facilities  and  temptations  to  illicit  gain  on  the  other, 
it  is  extremely  difficult  for  a  poor  man  to  walk  straight. 
Illicit  gain  does  not  merely  mean  gain  that  brings  a 
man  within  the  range  of  the  criminal  law.  Many  of 
its  forms  escape  legal  and  perhaps  social  censure,  and 
may  be  even  sanctioned  by  custom.  A  competence, 
whether  small  or  large,  is  no  sure  preservative  against 
that  appetite  for  gain  which  becomes  one  of  the  most 
powerful  and  insatiable  of  passions.  But  it  at  least 
diminishes  temptation.  It  takes  away  the  pressure  of 
want  under  which  so  many  natures  that  were  once 
substantially  honest  have  broken  down. 

In  the  expenditure  of  money  there  is  usually  a  great 
deal  of  the  conventional,  the  factitious,  the  purely 
ostentatious,  but  we  are  here  dealing  with  the  most 
serious  realities  of  life.  There  are  few  or  no  elements 


272  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

of  happiness  and  character  more  important  than  those 
I  have  indicated,  and  a  small  competence  conduces 
powerfully  to  them.  Let  no  man  therefore  despise  it, 
for  if  wisely  used  it  is  one  of  the  most  real  blessings 
of  life.  It  is  of  course  only  within  the  reach  of  a 
small  minority,  but  the  number  might  easily  be  much 
larger  than  it  is.  Often  when  it  is  inherited  in  early 
youth  it  is  scattered  in  one  or  two  years  of  gambling 
and  dissipation,  followed  by  a  lifetime  of  regret.  In 
other  cases  it  crumbles  away  in  a  generation,  for  it  is 
made  an  excuse  for  a  life  of  idleness,  and  when  chil- 
dren multiply  or  misfortunes  arrive,  what  was  once  a 
competence  becomes  nothing  more  than  bare  necessity. 
In  a  still  larger  number  of  cases  many  of  its  advan- 
tages are  lost  because  men  at  once  adopt  a  scale  of 
living  fully  equal  to  their  income.  A  man  who  with 
one  house  would  be  a  wealthy  man,  finds  life  with  two 
houses  a  constant  struggle.  A  set  of  habits  is  acquired, 
a  scale  or  standard  of  luxury  is  adopted,  which  at  once 
sweeps  away  the  margin  of  superfluity.  Riches  or 
poverty  depend  not  merely  on  the  amount  of  our  pos- 
sessions, but  quite  as  much  on  the  regulation  of  our 
desires,  and  the  full  advantages  of  competence  are 
only  felt  when  men  begin  by  settling  their  scheme  of 
life  on  a  scale  materially  within  their  income.  "When 
the  great  lines  of  expenditure  are  thus  wisely  and  fru- 
gally established,  they  can  command  a  wide  latitude 
and  much  ease  in  dealing  with  the  smaller  ones. 

It  is  of  course  true  that  the  power  of  a  man  thus  to 
regulate  his  expenditure  is  by  no  means  absolute.  The 
position  in  society  in  which  a  man  is  born  brings  with 
it  certain  conventionalities  and  obligations  that  can- 


RELATION  OF  MONET  TO   HAPPINESS  £73 

not  be  discarded.  A  great  nobleman  who  has  inherited 
a  vast  estate  and  a  conspicuous  social  position  will, 
through  no  fault  of  his  own,  find  himself  involved  in 
constant  difficulties  and  struggles  on  an  income  a  tenth 
part  of  which  would  suffice  to  give  a  simple  private 
gentleman  every  reasonable  enjoyment  in  life.  A  poor 
clergyman  who  is  obliged  to  keep  up  the  position  of  a 
gentleman  is  in  reality  a  much  poorer  man  than  a  pros- 
perous artizan,  even  though  his  actual  income  may  be 
somewhat  larger.  But  within  the  bounds  which  the 
conventionalities  of  society  imperatively  prescribe 
many  scales  of  expenditure  are  possible,  and  the  wise 
regulation  of  these  is  one  of  the  chief  forms  of  practi- 
cal wisdom. 

It  may  be  observed,  however,  that  not  only  men  but 
nations  differ  widely  in  this  respect,  and  the  difference 
is  not  merely  that  between  prudence  and  folly,  between 
forethought  and  passion,  but  is  also  in  a  large  degree 
a  difference  of  tastes  and  ideals.  In  general  it  will  be 
found  that  in  Continental  nations  a  man  of  indepen- 
dent fortune  will  place  his  expenditure  more  below  his 
means  than  in  England,  and  a  man  who  has  pursued 
some  lucrative  employment  will  sooner  be  satisfied 
with  the  competence  he  has  acquired  and  will  gladly 
exchange  his  work  for  a  life  of  leisure.  The  English 
character  prefers  a  higher  rate  of  expenditure  and  work 
continued  to  the  end. 

It  is  probable  that,  so  far  as  happiness  depends  on 
money,  the  happiest  lot — though  it  is  certainly  not 
that  which  is  most  envied — is  that  of  a  man  who  pos- 
sesses a  realised  fortune  sufficient  to  save  him  from 
serious  money  cares  about  the  present  and  the  future, 
18 


274  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

but  who  at  the  same  time  can  only  keep  up  the  posi- 
tion in  society  he  has  chosen  for  himself,  and  provide 
as  he  desires  for  his  children,  by  adding  to  it  a  pro- 
fessional income.  Work  is  necessary  both  to  happi- 
ness and  to  character,  and  experience  shows  that  it 
most  frequently  attains  its  full  concentration  and  con- 
tinuity when  it  is  professional,  or,  in  other  words, 
money-making.  Men  work  in  traces  as  they  will  sel- 
dom work  at  liberty.  The  compulsory  character,  the 
steady  habits,  the  constant  emulation  of  professional 
life  mould  and  strengthen  the  will,  and  probably  the 
happiest  lot  is  when  this  kind  of  work  exists,  but  with- 
out the  anxiety  of  those  who  depend  solely  on  it. 

It  is  also  a  good  thing  when  wealth  tends  to  increase 
with  age.  '  Old  age/  it  has  been  said,  '  is  a  very  ex- 
pensive thing.'  If  the  taste  for  pleasure  diminishes, 
the  necessity  for  comfort  increases.  Men  become  more 
dependent  and  more  fastidious,  and  hardships  that 
are  indifferent  to  youth  become  acutely  painful.  Be- 
side this,  money  cares  are  apt  to  weigh  with  an  espe- 
cial heaviness  upon  the  old.  Avarice,  as  has  been 
often  observed,  is  eminently  an  old-age  vice,  and  in 
natures  that  are  in  no  degree  avaricious  it  will  be 
found  that  real  money  anxieties  are  more  felt  and 
have  a  greater  haunting  power  in  age  than  in  youth. 
There  is  then  the  sense  of  impotence  which  makes 
men  feel  that  their  earning  power  has  gone.  On  the 
other  hand  youth,  and  especially  early  married  life 
spent  under  the  pressure  of  narrow  circumstances,  will 
often  be  looked  back  upon  as  both  the  happiest  and 
the  most  fruitful  period  of  life.  It  is  the  best  disci- 
pline of  character.  It  is  under  such  circumstances 


THE  COST  OF  PLEASURES  276 

that  men  acquire  habits  of  hard  and  steady  work,  fru- 
gality, order,  forethought,  punctuality,  and  simplicity 
of  tastes.  They  acquire  sympathies  and  realisations 
they  would  never  have  known  in  more  prosperous  cir- 
cumstances. They  learn  to  take  keen  pleasure  in  lit- 
tle things,  and  to  value  rightly  both  money  and  time. 
If  wealth  and  luxury  afterwards  come  in  overflowing 
measure,  these  lessons  will  not  be  wholly  lost. 

The  value  of  money  as  an  element  of  happiness 
diminishes  rapidly  in  proportion  to  its  amount.  In 
the  case  of  the  humbler  fortunes,  each  accession  brings 
with  it  a  large  increase  of  pleasure  and  comfort,  and 
probably  a  very  considerable  addition  to  real  happi- 
ness. In  the  case  of  rich  men  this  is  not  the  case,  and 
of  colossal  fortunes  only  a  very  small  fraction  can  be 
truly  said  to  minister  to  the  personal  enjoyment  of 
the  owner.  The  disproportion  in  the  world  between 
pleasure  and  cost  is  indeed  almost  ludicrous.  The 
two  or  three  shillings  that  gave  us  our  first  Shake- 
speare would  go  but  a  small  way  towards  providing 
one  of  the  perhaps  untasted  dishes  on  the  dessert  table. 
The  choicest  masterpieces  of  the  human  mind — the 
works  of  human  genius  that  through  the  long  course 
of  centuries  have  done  most  to  ennoble,  console, 
brighten,  and  direct  the  lives  of  men,  might  all  be 
purchased — I  do  not  say  by  the  cost  of  a  lady's  neck- 
lace, but  by  that  of  one  or  two  of  the  little  stones  of 
which  it  is  composed.  Compare  the  relish  with  which 
the  tired  pedestrian  eats  his  bread  and  cheese  with  the 
appetites  with  which  men  sit  down  to  some  stately 
banquet ;  compare  the  level  of  spirits  at  the  village 
dance  with  that  of  the  great  city  ball  whose  lavish 


276  TELE  MAP  O 

splendour  fills  the  society  papers  with  admiration  ; 
compare  the  charm  of  conversation  in  the  college  com- 
mon room  with  the  weary  faces  that  may  be  often  seen 
around  the  millionaire's  dinner  table, — and  we  may  gain 
a  good  lesson  of  the  vanity  of  riches.  The  transition 
from  want  to  comfort  brings  with  it  keen  enjoyment 
and  much  lasting  happiness.  The  transition  from 
mere  comfort  to  luxury  brings  incomparably  less  and 
costs  incomparably  more.  Let  a  man  of  enormous 
wealth  analyse  his  life  from  day  to  day  and  try  to  esti- 
mate what  are  the  things  or  hours  that  have  afforded 
him  real  and  vivid  pleasure.  In  many  cases  he  will 
probably  say  that  he  has  found  it  in  his  work — in 
others  in  the  hour  spent  with  his  cigar,  his  newspaper, 
or  his  book,  or  in  his  game  of  cricket,  or  in  the  excite- 
ment of  the  hunting-field,  or  in  his  conversation  with 
an  old  friend,  or  in  hearing  his  daughters  sing,  or  in 
welcoming  his  son  on  his  return  from  school.  Let 
him  look  round  the  splendid  adornments  of  his  home 
and  ask  how  many  of  these  things  have  ever  given 
him  a  pleasure  at  all  proportionate  to  their  cost.  Proba- 
bly in  many  cases,  if  he  deals  honestly  with  himself, 
he  would  confess  that  his  armchair  and  his  book- 
shelves are  almost  the  only  exceptions. 

Steam,  the  printing  press,  the  spread  of  education, 
and  the  great  multiplication  of  public  libraries,  muse- 
ums, picture  galleries  and  exhibitions  have  brought 
the  chief  pleasures  of  life  in  a  much  larger  degree  than 
in  any  previous  age  within  the  reach  of  what  are  called 
the  working  classes,  while  in  the  conditions  of  modern 
life  nearly  all  the  great  sources  of  real  enjoyment  that 
money  can  give  are  open  to  a  man  who  possesses  a 


THE  COST  OF  PLEASURES  277 

competent  but  not  extraordinary  fortune  and  some 
leisure.  Intellectual  tastes  he  may  gratify  to  the  full. 
Books,  at  all  events  in  the  great  centres  of  civilisation, 
are  accessible  far  in  excess  of  his  powers  of  reading. 
The  pleasures  of  the  theatre,  the  pleasures  of  society, 
the  pleasures  of  music  in  most  of  its  forms,  the  plea- 
sures of  travel  with  all  its  variety  of  interests,  and  many 
of  the  pleasures  of  sport,  are  abundantly  at  his  disposal. 
The  possession  of  the  highest  works  of  art  has  no 
doubt  become  more  and  more  a  monopoly  of  the  very 
rich,  but  picture  galleries  and  exhibitions  and  the  facili- 
ties of  travel  have  diffused  the  knowledge  and  enjoy- 
ment of  art  over  a  vastly  wider  area  than  in  the  past. 
The  power  of  reproducing  works  of  art  has  been  im- 
mensely increased  and  cheapened,  and  in  one  form  at 
least  the  highest  art  has  been  brought  within  the  reach 
of  a  man  of  very  moderate  means.  Photography  can 
reproduce  a  drawing  with  such  absolute  perfection 
that  he  may  cover  his  walls  with  works  of  Michael 
Angelo  and  Leonardo  da  Vinci  that  are  indistinguish- 
able from  the  originals.  The  standard  of  comfort  in 
mere  material  things  is  now  so  high  in  well-to-do 
households  that  to  a  healthy  nature  the  millionaire 
can  add  little  to  it.  Perhaps  among  the  pleasures  of 
wealth  that  which  has  the  strongest  influence  is  a 
country  place,  especially  when  it  brings  with  it  old 
remembrances,  and  associations  that  appeal  powerfully 
to  the  affections  and  the  imagination.  More  than  any 
other  inanimate  thing  it  throws  its  tendrils  round  the 
human  heart  and  becomes  the  object  of  a  deep  and 
lasting  affection.  But  even  here  it  will  be  probably 
found  that  this  pleasure  is  more  felt  by  the  owner  of 


278  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

one  country  place  than  by  the  great  proprietor  whose 
life  is  spent  alternately  in  several — by  the  owner  of  a 
place  of  moderate  dimensions  than  by  the  owner  of 
those  yast  parks  which  can  only  be  managed  at  great 
expense  and  trouble  and  by  much  delegated  super- 
vision, and  which  are  usually  thrown  open  with  such 
liberality  to  the  public  that  they  probably  give  more 
real  pleasure  to  others  than  to  their  owners. 

Among  the  special  pleasures  of  the  enormously  rich 
the  collecting  passion  is  conspicuous,  and  of  course  a 
very  rich  man  can  carry  it  into  departments  which 
men  of  moderate  fortune  can  hardly  touch.  In  the  rare 
case  when  the  collector  is  a  man  of  strong  and  genuine 
artistic  taste  the  possession  of  works  of  beauty  is  a 
thing  of  enduring  pleasure,  but  in  general  the  mere 
love  of  collecting,  though  it  often  becomes  a  passion 
almost  amounting  to  a  mania,  bears  very  little  propor- 
tion to  pecuniary  value.  The  intelligent  collector  of 
fossils  has  as  much  pleasure  as  the  collector  of  gems — 
probably  indeed  more,  as  the  former  pursuit  brings  with 
it  a  much  greater  variety  of  interest,  and  usually  de- 
pends much  more  on  the  personal  exertions  of  the  collec- 
tor. It  is  pleasant,  in  looking  over  a  geological  col- 
lection, to  think  that  every  stone  we  see  has  given  a 
pleasure.  A  collector  of  Caxtons,  a  collector  of  large 
printed  or  illustrated  editions,  a  collector  of  first  edi- 
tions of  famous  books,  a  collector  of  those  editions 
that  are  so  much  prized  because  an  author  has  made 
in  them  some  blunder  which  he  afterwards  corrected  ; 
a  collector  of  those  unique  books  which  have  survived 
as  rarities  because  no  one  thought  it  worth  while  to 
reprint  them  or  because  they  are  distinguished  by  some 


THE  COLLECTING  PASSION  279 

obsolete  absurdity,  will  probably  not  derive  more  plea- 
sure, though  he  will  spend  vastly  more  money,  than 
the  mere  literary  man  who,  being  interested  in  some 
particular  period  or  topic,  loves  to  hunt  up  in  old  book- 
shops the  obscure  and  forgotten  literature  relating  to 
it.  Much  the  same  thing  may  be  said  of  other  tastes. 
The  gratification  of  a  strong  taste  or  hobby  will  always 
give  pleasure,  and  it  makes  little  difference  whether  it 
is  an  expensive  or  an  inexpensive  one. 

The  pleasures  of  acquisition,  the  pleasures  of  posses- 
sion, and  the  pleasures  of  ostentation,  are  no  doubt  real 
things,  though  they  act  in  very  different  degrees  on 
different  natures,  and  some  of  them  much  more  on 
one  sex  than  on  the  other.  In  general,  however,  they 
tend  to  grow  passive  and  inert.  A  state  of  luxury  and 
splendour  is  little  appreciated  by  those  who  are  born 
to  it,  though  much  if  it  follows  a  period  of  struggle 
and  penury.  Yet  even  then  the  circumstances  and 
surroundings  of  life  soon  become  a  second  nature. 
Men  become  so  habituated  to  them  that  they  are  ac- 
cepted almost  mechanically  and  cease  to  give  positive 
pleasure,  though  a  deprivation  of  them  gives  positive 
pain.  The  love  of  power,  the  love  of  society,  and — 
what  is  not  quite  the  same  thing — the  love  of  social 
influence,  are,  however,  much  stronger  and  more  en- 
during, and  great  wealth  is  largely  valued  because  it 
helps  to  give  them,  though  it  does  not  give  them  in- 
variably, and  though  there  are  other  things  that  give 
them  in  an  equal  or  greater  degree.  To  many  very 
rich  men  some  form  of  field  sports  is  probably  the 
greatest  pleasure  that  money  affords.  It  at  least  gives 
a  genuine  thrill  of  unmistakable  enjoyment. 


280  THE  MAP  OF  LJFE 

Few  of  the  special  pleasures  of  the  millionaire  can 
be  said  to  be  purely  selfish,  for  few  are  concentrated 
altogether  on  himself.  His  great  park  is  usually  open 
to  the  public.  His  pictures  are  lent  for  exhibition  or 
exhibited  in  his  house.  If  he  keeps  a  pack  of  hounds 
others  hunt  with  it.  If  he  preserves  game  to  an  enor- 
mous extent  he  invites  many  to  shoot  it,  and  at  his 
great  entertainments  it  will  often  be  found  that  no  one 
derives  less  pleasure  than  the  weary  host. 

At  the  same  time  no  thinking  man  can  fail  to  be 
struck  with  the  great  waste  of  the  means  of  enjoyment 
in  a  society  in  which  such  gigantic  sums  are  spent  in 
mere  conventional  ostentation  which  gives  little  or  no 
pleasure  ;  in  which  the  best  London  houses  are  those 
which  are  the  longest  untenanted  ;  in  which  some  of 
the  most  enchanting  gardens  and  parks  are  only  seen 
by  their  owners  for  a  few  weeks  in  the  year. 

Hamerton,  in  his  Essay  on  Bohemianism,  has  very 
truly  shown  that  the  rationale  of  a  great  deal  of  this 
is  simply  the  attempt  of  men  to  obtain  from  social  in- 
tercourse the  largest  amount  of  positive  pleasure  or 
amusement  it  can  give  by  discarding  the  forms,  the 
costly  conventionalities,  the  social  restrictions  that 
encumber  and  limit  it.  One  of  the  worst  tendencies 
of  a  very  wealthy  society  is  that  by  the  mere  competi- 
tion of  ostentation  the  standard  of  conventional  ex- 
pense is  raised,  and  the  intercourse  of  men  limited  by 
the  introduction  of  a  number  of  new  and  costly  lux- 
uries which  either  give  no  pleasure  or  give  pleasure 
that  bears  no  kind  of  proportion  to  their  cost.  Ex- 
amples may  sometimes  be  seen  of  a  very  rich  man  who 
imagines  that  he  can  obtain  from  life  real  enjoyment 


THE  INTELLIGENT  MILLIONAIRE  281 

in  proportion  to  his  wealth  and  who  uses  it  for  purely 
selfish  purposes.  We  may  find  this  in  the  almost  in- 
sane extravagance  of  vulgar  ostentation  by  which  the 
parvenu  millionaire  tries  to  gratify  his  vanity  and 
dazzle  his  neighbours;  in  the  wild  round  of  prodigal 
dissipation  and  vice  by  which  so  many  young  men  who 
have  inherited  enormous  fortunes  have  wrecked  their 
constitutions  and  found  a  speedy  path  to  an  un- 
honoured  grave.  They  sought  from  money  what  money 
cannot  give,  and  learned  too  late  that  in  pursuing 
shadows  they  missed  the  substance  that  was  within 
their  reach. 

To  the  intelligent  millionaire,  however,  and  espe- 
cially to  those  who  are  brought  up  to  great  possessions, 
wealth  is  looked  on  in  a  wholly  different  light.  It  is  a 
possession  and  a  trust  carrying  with  it  many  duties  as 
well  as  many  interests  and  accompanied  by  a  great 
burden  of  responsibility.  Mere  pleasure-hunting  plays 
but  a  small  and  wholly  subsidiary  part  in  such  lives, 
and  they  are  usually  filled  with  much  useful  work. 
This  man,  for  example,  is  a  banker  on  a  colossal  scale. 
Follow  his  life,  and  you  will  find  that  for  four  days  in 
the  week  he  is  engaged  in  his  office  as  steadily,  as  unre- 
mittingly as  any  clerk  in  his  establishment.  He  has 
made  himself  master  not  only  of  the  details  of  his  own 
gigantic  business  but  of  the  whole  great  subject  of 
finance  in  all  its  international  relations.  He  is  a  power 
in  many  lands.  He  is  consulted  in  every  crisis  of 
finance.  He  is  an  important  influence  in  a  crowd  of 
enterprises,  most  of  them  useful  as  well  as  lucrative, 
some  of  them  distinctively  philanthropic.  Saturday 
and  Sunday  he  spends  at  his  country  place,  usually 


282  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

entertaining  a  number  of  guests.  One  other  day  du- 
ring the  hunting  season  he  regularly  devotes  to  his 
favourite  sport.  His  holiday  is  the  usual  holiday  of  a 
professional  man,  with  rather  a  tendency  to  abridge 
than  to  lengthen  it,  as  the  natural  bent  of  his  thoughts 
is  so  strongly  to  his  work  that  time  soon  begins  to 
hang  heavily  when  he  is  away  from  it. 

Another  man  is  an  ardent  philanthropist,  and  his 
philanthropy  probably  blends  with  much  religious 
fervour,  and  he  becomes  in  consequence  a  leader  in 
the  religious  world.  Such  a  life  cannot  fail  to  be 
abundantly  filled.  Eeligious  meetings,  committees, 
the  various  interests  of  the  many  institutions  with 
which  he  is  connected,  the  conflicting  and  competing 
claims  of  different  religious  societies,  fully  occupy  his 
time  and  thoughts,  sometimes  to  the  great  neglect  of 
his  private  affairs. 

Another  man  is  of  a  different  type.  Shy,  retiring, 
hating  publicity,  and  not  much  interested  in  politics, 
he  is  a  gigantic  landowner,  and  the  work  of  his  life  is 
concentrated  on  the  development  of  his  own  estate. 
He  knows  the  circumstances  of  every  village,  almost 
of  every  farm.  It  is  his  pride  that  no  labourer  on  his 
estate  is  badly  housed,  that  no  part  of  it  is  slovenly  or 
mismanaged  or  poverty-stricken.  He  endows  churches 
and  hospitals,  he  erects  public  buildings,  encourages 
every  local  industry,  makes  in  times  of  distress  much 
larger  remissions  of  rent  than  would  be  possible  for  a 
poorer  man,  superintends  personally  the  many  interests 
on  his  property,  knows  accurately  the  balance  of  re- 
ceipts and  expenditure,  takes  a  great  interest  in  sani- 
tation, in  new  improvements  and  experiments  in 


THE  ACTIVE  POLITICIAN  283 

agriculture,  in  all  the  multifarious  matters  that  affect 
the  prosperity  of  his  numerous  tenantry.  Pe  sub- 
scribes liberally  to  great  national  undertakings,  as  he 
considers  it  one  of  the  duties  of  his  position,  but  hia 
heart  is  not  in  such  things,  and  the  well-being  of  his 
own  vast  estate  and  of  those  who  live  upon  it  is  the  aim 
and  the  work  of  his  life.  For  a  few  weeks  of  the  year 
he  exercises  the  splendid  and  lavish  hospitality  which 
is  expected  from  a  man  in  his  position,  and  he  is  always 
very  glad  when  those  weeks  are  over.  He  has,  how- 
ever, his  own  expensive  hobby,  which  gives  him  real 
pleasure — his  yacht,  his  picture  gallery,  his  museum, 
his  collection  of  wild  animals,  his  hothouses  or  his 
racing  establishment.  One  or  more  of  these  form  the 
real  amusement  of  his  active  and  useful  life. 

A  more  common  type  in  England  is  that  of  the 
active  politician.  Great  wealth  and  especially  great 
lauded  property  bring  men  easily  into  Parliament, 
and,  if  united  with  industry  and  some  measure  of 
ability,  into  official  life,  and  public  life  thus  becomes  a 
profession  and  in  many  cases  a  very  laborious  one. 
There  are  few  better  examples  of  a  well-filled  life  and 
of  the  skilful  management  and  economy  of  time  than 
are  to  be  found  in  the  lives  of  some  great  noblemen 
who  take  a  leading  part  in  politics  and  preside  over 
important  Government  departments  without  suffering 
their  gigantic  estates  to  fall  into  mismanagement,  or 
neglecting  the  many  social  duties  and  local  interests 
connected  with  them.  Most  of  their  success  is  indeed 
due  to  the  wise  use  of  money  in  economising  time  by 
trustworthy  and  efficient  delegation.  Yet  the  superin- 
tending brain,  the  skilful  choice,  the  personal  control 


284:  THE   MAP    OF 

cannot  be  dispensed  with.  In  a  life  so  fully  occupied 
the  few  weeks  of  pleasure  which  may  be  spent  on  a 
Scotch  moor  or  in  a  Continental  watering-place  will 
surely  not  be  condemned. 

The  economy  of  time  and  the  elasticity  of  brain  and 
character  such  lives  develop  are,  however,  probably  ex- 
ceeded by  another  class.  Nothing  is  more  remarkable 
in  the  social  life  of  the  present  generation  than  the 
high  pressure  under  which  a  large  number  of  ladies  in 
great  positions  habitually  live.  It  strikes  every  Con- 
tinental observer,  for  there  is  nothing  approaching  it 
in  any  other  European  country,  and  it  certainly  far 
exceeds  anything  that  existed  in  England  in  former 
generations.  Pleasure-seeking,  combined,  however,  on 
a  large  scale  with  pleasure-giving,  holds  a  much  more 
prominent  place  in  these  lives  than  in  those  I  have 
just  described.  With  not  a  few  women,  indeed,  of 
wealth  and  position,  it  is  the  all-in-all  of  life,  and  in 
general  it  is  probable  that  women  obtain  more  pleasure 
from  most  forms  of  society  than  men,  though  it  is 
also  true  that  they  bear  a  much  larger  share  of  its 
burdens.  There  are,  however,  in  this  class,  many 
who  combine  with  society  a  truly  surprising  number 
and  variety  of  serious  interests.  Not  only  the  manage- 
ment of  a  great  house,  not  only  the  superintendence 
of  schools  and  charities  and  local  enterprises  connected 
with  a  great  estate,  but  also  a  crowd  of  philanthropic, 
artistic,  political,  and  sometimes  literary  interests  fill 
their  lives.  Few  lives,  indeed,  in  any  station  are  more 
full,  more  intense,  more  constantly  and  variously  oc- 
cupied. Public  life,  which  in  most  foreign  countries 
is  wholly  outside  the  sphere  of  women,  is  eagerly  fol- 


LIVES  OF  EXCITEMENT  285 

lowed.  Public  speaking,  which  in  the  memory  of 
many  now  living  was  almost  unknown  among  women 
of  any  station  in  English  society,  has  become  the  most 
ordinary  accomplishment.  Their  object  is  to  put  into 
life  from  youth  to  old  age  as  much  as  life  can  give, 
and  they  go  far  to  attain  their  end.  A  wonderful 
nimbleness  and  flexibility  of  intellect  capable  of  turn- 
ing swiftly  from  subject  to  subject  has  been  developed, 
and  keeps  them  in  touch  with  a  very  wide  range  both 
of  interests  and  pleasures. 

There  are  no  doubt  grave  drawbacks  to  all  this. 
Many  will  say  that  this  external  activity  must  be  at 
the  sacrifice  of  the  duties  of  domestic  life,  but  on  this 
subject  there  is,  I  think,  at  least  much  exaggeration. 
Education  has  now  assumed  such  forms  and  attained 
such  a  standard  that  usually  for  many  hours  in  the  day 
the  education  of  the  young  in  a  wealthy  family  is  in 
the  hands  of  accomplished  specialists,  and  I  do  not 
think  that  the  most  occupied  lives  are  those  in  which 
the  cares  of  a  home  are  most  neglected.  How  far, 
however,  this  intense  and  constant  strain  is  compatible 
with  physical  well-being  is  a  graver  question,  and 
many  have  feared  that  it  must  bequeath  weakened 
constitutions  to  the  coming  generation.  Nor  is  a  life 
of  incessant  excitement  in  other  respects  beneficial. 
In  both  intellectual  and  moral  hygiene  the  best  life  is 
that  which  follows  nature  and  alternates  periods  of 
great  activity  with  periods  of  rest.  Retirement,  quiet, 
steady  reading,  and  the  silent  thought  which  matures 
character  and  deepens  impressions  are  things  that 
seem  almost  disappearing  from  many  English  lives. 
But  lives  such  as  I  have  described  are  certainly  not  use- 


286  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

less,  undeveloped,  or  wholly  selfish,  and  they  in  a  large 
degree  fulfil  that  great  law  of  happiness,  that  it  should 
be  sought  for  rather  in  interests  than  in  pleasures. 

I  have  already  referred  to  the  class  who  value  money 
chiefly  because  it  enables  them  to  dismiss  money 
thoughts  and  cares  from  their  minds.  On  the  whole, 
this  end  is  probably  more  frequently  attained  by  men 
of  moderate  but  competent  fortunes  than  by  the  very 
rich.  This  is  at  least  the  case  when  they  are  suffi- 
ciently rich  to  invest  their  money  in  securities  which 
are  liable  to  no  serious  risk  or  fluctuation.  A  gigantic 
fortune  is  seldom  of  such  a  nature  that  it  does  not 
bring  with  it  great  cares  of  administration  and  require 
much  thought  and  many  decisions.  There  is,  how- 
ever, one  important  exception.  When  there  are  many 
children  the  task  of  providing  for  their  future  falls 
much  more  lightly  on  the  very  rich  than  on  those  of 
medium  fortune. 

There  is  a  class,  however,  who  are  the  exact  opposite 
of  these  and  who  make  the  simple  acquisition  of  money 
the  chief  interest  and  pleasure  of  their  lives.  Money- 
making  in  some  form  is  the  main  occupation  of  the 
great  majority  of  men,  but  it  is  usually  as  a  means  to 
an  end.  It  is  to  acquire  the  means  of  livelihood,  or 
the  means  of  maintaining  or  improving  a  social  posi- 
tion, or  the  means  of  providing  as  they  think  fit  for 
the  children  who  are  to  succeed  them.  Sometimes, 
however,  with  the  very  rich  and  without  any  ulterior 
object,  money-making  for  its  own  sake  becomes  the 
absorbing  interest.  They  can  pursue  it  with  great 
advantage  ;  for,  as  has  been  often  said,  nothing  makes 
money  like  money,  and  the  possession  of  an  immense 


THE  GREAT  SPECULATOR  287 

capital  gives  innumerable  facilities  for  increasing  it. 
The  collecting  passion  takes  this  form.  They  come  to 
care  more  for  money  than  for  anything  money  can 
purchase,  though  less  for  money  than  for  the  interest 
and  the  excitement  of  getting  it.  Speculative  enter- 
prise, with  its  fluctuations,  uncertainties  and  surprises, 
becomes  their  strongest  interest  and  their  greatest 
amusement. 

When  it  is  honestly  conducted  there  is  no  real  reason 
why  it  should  be  condemned.  On  these  conditions  a 
life  so  spent  is,  I  think,  usually  useful  to  the  world,  for 
it  generally  encourages  works  that  are  of  real  value. 
All  that  can  be  truly  said  is  that  it  brings  with  it 
grave  temptations  and  is  very  apt  to  lower  a  man's 
moral  being.  Speculation  easily  becomes  a  form  of 
gambling  so  fierce  in  its  excitement  that,  when  carried 
on  incessantly  and  on  a  great  scale,  it  kills  all  capacity 
for  higher  and  tranquil  pleasures,  strengthens  incalcu- 
lably the  temptations  to  unscrupulous  gain,  disturbs 
the  whole  balance  of  character,  and  often  even  shortens 
life.  With  others  the  love  of  accumulation  has  a  strange 
power  of  materialising,  narrowing  and  hardening. 
Habits  of  meanness — sometimes  taking  curious  and 
inconsistent  forms,  and  applying  only  to  particular 
things  or  departments  of  life — steal  insensibly  over 
them,  and  the  love  of  money  assumes  something  of  the 
character  of  mania.  Temptations  connected  with 
money  are  indeed  among  the  most  insidious  and 
among  the  most  powerful  to  which  we  are  exposed. 
They  have  probably  a  wider  empire  than  drink,  and, 
unlike  the  temptations  that  spring  from  animal  pas- 
sion, they  strengthen  rather  than  diminish  with  age. 


288  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

In  no  respect  is  it  more  necessary  for  a  man  to  keep 
watch  over  his  own  character,  taking  care  that  the  un- 
selfish element  does  not  diminish,  and  correcting  the 
love  of  acquisition  by  generosity  of  expenditure. 

It  is  probable  that  the  highest  form  of  charity,  in- 
volving real  and  serious  self-denial,  is  much  more 
common  among  the  poor,  and  even  the  very  poor,  than 
among  the  rich.  I  think  most  persons  who  have  had 
much  practical  acquaintance  with  the  dealings  of  the 
poor  with  one  another  will  confirm  this.  It  is  certainly 
far  less  common  among  those  who  are  at  the  opposite 
pole  of  fortune.  They  have  not  had  the  same  disci- 
pline, or  indeed  the  same  possibility  of  self-sacrifice, 
or  the  same  means  of  realising  the  pains  of  poverty, 
and  there  is  another  reason  which  tends  not  unnaturally 
to  check  their  benevolence.  A  man  with  the  reputa- 
tion of  great  wealth  soon  finds  himself  beleaguered  by 
countless  forms  of  mendicancy  and  imposture.  He 
comes  to  feel  that  there  is  a  general  conspiracy  to 
plunder  him,  and  he  is  naturally  thrown  into  an  atti- 
tude of  suspicion  and  self-defence.  Often,  though  he 
may  give  largely  and  generously,  he  will  do  so  under 
the  veil  of  strict  anonymity,  in  order  to  avoid  a  reputa- 
tion for  generosity  which  will  bring  down  upon  him 
perpetual  solicitations.  If  he  is  an  intellectual  man 
he  will  probably  generalise  from  his  own  experience. 
He  will  be  deeply  impressed  with  the  enormous  evils 
that  have  sprung  from  ill-judged  charity,  and  with  the 
superiority  even  from  a  philanthropic  point  of  view  of 
a  productive  expenditure  of  money. 

And  in  truth  it  is  difficult  to  overrate  the  evil  effects 
of  injudicious  charities  in  discouraging  thrift,  indus- 


INJUDICIOUS  CHARITIES  289 

try,  foresight  and  self-respect.  They  take  many  forms; 
some  of  them  extremely  obvious,  while  others  can  only 
be  rightly  judged  by  a  careful  consideration  of  remote 
consequences.  There  are  the  idle  tourists  who  break 
down,  in  a  once  unsophisticated  district,  that  sense  of 
self-respect  which  is  one  of  the  most  valuable  lessons 
that  early  education  can  give,  by  flinging  pence  to  be 
scrambled  for  among  the  children,  or  who  teach  the 
poor  the  fatal  lesson  that  mendicancy  or  something 
hardly  distinguishable  from  mendicancy  will  bring 
greater  gain  than  honest  and  continuous  work.  There 
is  the  impulsive,  uninquiring  charity  that  makes  the 
trade  of  the  skilful  begging-letter  writer  a  lucrative 
profession,  and  makes  men  and  women  who  are  rich, 
benevolent  and  weak,  the  habitual  prey  of  greedy  im- 
postors. There  is  the  old-established  charity  for  min- 
istering to  simple  poverty  which  draws  to  its  centre 
all  the  pauperism  of  the  neighbouring  districts,  de- 
presses wages,  and  impoverishes  the  very  district  or 
class  it  was  intended  to  benefit.  There  are  charities 
which  not  only  largely  diminish  the  sufferings  that 
are  the  natural  consequence  and  punishment  of  vice  ; 
but  even  make  the  lot  of  the  criminal  and  the  vicious 
a  better  one  than  that  of  the  hard-working  poor. 
There  are  overlapping  charities  dealing  with  the  same 
department,  but  kept  up  with  lavish  waste  through 
the  rivalry  of  different  religious  denominations,  or  in 
the  interests  of  the  officials  connected  with  them  ;  be- 
lated or  superannuated  charities  formed  to  deal  with 
circumstances  or  sufferings  that  have  in  a  large  degree 
passed  away — useless,  or  almost  useless,  charities  estab- 
lished to  carry  out  some  silly  fad  or  to  gratify  some 
19 


290  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

silly  vanity;  sectarian  charities  intended  to  further 
ends  which,  in  the  eyes  of  all  but  the  members  of  one 
sect,  are  not  only  useless  but  mischievous ;  charities 
that  encourage  thriftless  marriages,  or  make  it  easy 
for  men  to  neglect  obvious  duties,  or  keep  a  semi- 
pauper  population  stationary  in  employments  and  on 
a  soil  where  they  can  never  prosper,  or  in  other  ways 
handicap,  impede  or  divert  the  natural  and  healthy 
course  of  industry.  Illustrations  of  all  these  evils  will 
occur  to  every  careful  student  of  the  subject.  Unin- 
telligent, thoughtless,  purely  impulsive  charity,  and 
charity  which  is  inspired  by  some  other  motive  than 
a  real  desire  to  relieve  suffering,  will  constantly  go 
wrong,  but  every  intelligent  man  can  find  without  diffi- 
culty vast  fields  on  which  the  largest  generosity  may 
be  expended  with  abundant  fruit. 

Hospitals  and  kindred  institutions  for  alleviating 
great  unavoidable  calamities,  and  giving  the  sick  poor 
something  of  the  same  chances  of  recovery  as  the  rich, 
for  the  most  part  fall  under  this  head.  Money  will 
seldom  be  wasted  which  is  spent  in  promoting  kinds 
of  knowledge,  enterprise  or  research  that  bring  no  cer- 
tain remuneration  proportioned  to  their  value  ;  in  as- 
sisting poor  young  men  of  ability  and  industry  to 
develop  their  special  talents  ;  in  encouraging  in  their 
many  different  forms  thrift,  self-help  and  co-opera- 
tion ;  in  alleviating  the  inevitable  suffering  that  fol- 
lows some  great  catastrophe  on  land  or  sea,  or  great 
transitions  of  industry,  or  great  fluctuations  and  de- 
pressions in  class  prosperity ;  in  giving  the  means  of 
healthy  recreation  or  ennobling  pleasures  to  the  deni- 
zens of  a  crowded  town.  The  vast  sphere  of  educa 


JUDICIOUS  CHARITIES  291 

tion  opens  endless  fields  for  generous  expenditure,  and 
every  religious  man  will  find  objects  which,  in  the 
opinion  not  only  of  men  of  his  own  persuasion,  but 
also  of  many  others,  are  transcendently  important. 
Nor  is  it  a  right  principle  that  charity  should  be  de- 
nied to  all  calamities  which  are  in  some  degree  due  to 
the  fault  of  the  sufferer,  or  which  might  have  been 
averted  by  exceptional  forethought  or  self-denial. 
Some  economists  write  as  if  a  far  higher  standard  of 
will  and  morals  should  be  expected  among  the  poor 
and  the  uneducated  than  can  be  found  among  the  rich. 
Good  sense  and  right  feeling  will  here  easily  draw  the 
line,  abstaining  from  charities  that  have  a  real  influ- 
ence in  encouraging  improvidence  or  vice,  yet  making 
due  allowance  for  the  normal  weaknesses  of  our 
nature. 

In  all  these  ways  the  very  rich  can  find  ample  oppor- 
tunities for  useful  benevolence.  It  is  the  prerogative 
of  great  wealth  that  it  can  often  cure  what  others  can 
only  palliate,  and  can  establish  permanent  sources  of 
good  which  will  continue  long  after  the  donors  have 
passed  away.  In  dealing  with  individual  cases  of  dis- 
tress, rich  men  who  have  neither  the  time  nor  the  in- 
clination to  investigate  the  special  circumstances  will 
do  well  to  rely  largely  on  the  recommendation  of  others. 
If  they  choose  trustworthy,  competent  and  sensible 
advisers  with  as  much  judgment  as  they  commonly 
show  in  the  management  of  their  private  affairs,  they 
are  not  likely  to  go  astray.  There  never  was  a  period 
when  a  larger  amount  of  intelligent  and  disinterested 
labour  was  employed  in  careful  and  detailed  examina- 
tion of  the  circumstances  and  needs  of  the  poor.  The 


292  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

parish  clergyman,  the  district  visitor,  the  agents  of 
the  Charity  Organization  Society  which  annually  se 
lects  its   special  cases  of  well-ascertained  need,  will 
abundantly  furnish  them  with  the  knowledge  they 
require. 

The  advantage  or  disadvantage  of  the  presence  in  a 
country  of  a  large  class  of  men  possessing  fortunes  far 
exceeding  anything  that  can  really  administer  to  their 
enjoyment  is  a  question  which  has  greatly  divided  both 
political  economists  and  moralists.  The  former  were 
long  accustomed  to  maintain  somewhat  exclusively 
that  laws  and  institutions  should  be  established  with 
the  object  of  furthering  the  greatest  possible  accumu- 
lation of  wealth,  and  that  a  system  of  unrestricted 
competition,  coupled  with  equal  laws,  giving  each 
man  the  most  complete  security  in  the  possession  and 
disposal  of  his  property,  was  the  best  means  of  attain- 
ing this  end.  They  urged  with  great  truth  that, 
although  under  such  a  system  the  inequalities  of  for- 
tune will  be  enormous,  most  of  the  wealth  of  the  very 
rich  will  inevitably  be  distributed  in  the  form  of  wages, 
purchases,  and  industrial  enterprises  through  the  com- 
munity at  large,  and  that,  other  things  being  equal, 
the  richest  country  will  on  the  whole  be  the  happiest. 
They  clearly  saw  the  complete  delusion  of  the  common 
assertions  that  the  more  millionaires  there  are  in  a  coun- 
try the  more  paupers  will  multiply,  and  that  society  is 
dividing  between  the  enormously  rich  and  the  abjectly 
poor.  The  great  industrial  communities,  in  which 
there  are  the  largest  number  of  very  wealthy  men,  are 
also  the  centres  in  which  we  find  the  most  prosperous 
middle  class,  and  the  highest  and  most  progressive  rates 


THE  THIRST  FOR  WEALTH  £93 

of  wages  and  standards  of  comfort  among  the  poor. 
Great  corruption  in  many  forms  no  doubt  exists  in 
them,  but  it  can  scarcely  be  maintained  with  confidence 
that  the  standard  of  integrity  is  on  the  whole  lower  in 
these  than  in  other  countries,  and  they  at  least  escape 
what  in  many  poor  countries  is  one  of  the  most  fruitful 
causes  of  corruption  in  all  branches  of  administration — 
the  inadequate  pay  of  the  servants  of  the  Crown.  The 
path  of  liberty  in  the  eyes  of  economists  of  this  school 
is  the  path  of  wisdom,  and  they  were  profoundly  dis- 
trustful of  all  legislative  attempts  to  restrict  or  interfere 
with  the  course  of  industrial  progress. 

In  our  own  generation  a  somewhat  different  tendency 
has  manifestly  strengthened.  It  has  been  said  that 
past  political  economists  paid  too  much  attention  to 
the  accumulation  and  too  little  to  the  distribution  of 
wealth.  Men  have  become  more  sensible  to  the  high 
level  of  happiness  and  moral  well-being  that  has  been 
attained  in  some  of  the  smaller  and  somewhat  stagnant 
countries  of  Europe,  where  wealth  is  more  generally 
attained  by  thrift  and  steady  industry  than  by  great 
industrial  or  commercial  enterprise,  in  which  there 
are  few  large  fortunes  but  little  acute  poverty,  a  low 
standard  of  luxury,  but  a  high  standard  of  real  com- 
fort. The  enormous  evils  that  have  grown  up  in 
wealthy  countries,  in  the  form  of  company-mongering, 
excessive  competition,  extravagant  and  often  vicious 
luxury,  and  dishonest  administration  of  public  funds, 
are  more  and  more  felt,  and  it  is  only  too  true  that  in 
these  countries  there  are  large  and  influential  circles  of 
society  in  which  all  considerations  of  character,  intel- 
lect, or  manners  seem  lost  in  an  intense  thirst  for 


294  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

wealth  and  for  the  things  that  it  can  give.  Some- 
times we  find  vast  fortunes  in  countries  where  there  is 
but  little  enterprise  and  a  very  low  standard  of  comfort 
among  the  people,  and  where  this  is  the  case  it  is 
usually  due  to  unequal  laws  or  corrupt  administration. 
In  the  free,  democratic,  and  industrial  communities 
great  fluctuations  and  disparities  of  wealth  are  inevi- 
table, and  some  of  the  most  colossal  fortunes  have,  no 
doubt,  been  made  by  the  evil  methods  I  have  described. 
They  are,  however,  only  a  minority,  and  not  a  very 
large  one.  Like  all  the  great  successes  of  life,  abnor- 
mal accumulation  of  wealth  is  usually  due  to  the  com- 
bination in  different  proportions  of  ability,  character, 
and  chance,  and  is  not  tainted  with  dishonesty.  On 
the  whole,  the  question  that  should  be  asked  is  not 
what  a  man  has,  but  how  he  obtained  it  and  how  he 
uses  it.  When  wealth  is  honestly  acquired  and  wisely 
and  generously  used,  the  more  rich  men  there  are  in  a 
country  the  better. 

There  has  probably  never  been  a  period  in  the  history 
of  the  world  when  the  conditions  of  industry,  assisted 
by  the  great  gold  discoveries  in  several  parts  of  the 
globe,  were  so  favourable  to  the  formation  of  enormous 
fortunes  as  at  present,  and  when  the  race  of  million- 
aires was  so  large.  The  majority  belong  to  the  English- 
speaking  race ;  probably  most  of  their  gigantic  fortunes 
have  been  rapidly  accumulated,  and  bring  with  them 
none  of  the  necessary,  hereditary,  and  clearly  defined 
obligations  of  a  great  landowner,  while  a  considerable 
proportion  of  them  have  fallen  to  the  lot  of  men  who, 
through  their  education  or  early  habits,  have  not  many 
cultivated  or  naturally  expensive  tastes.  In  England 


PHILANTHROPIC  EXPENDITURES  295 

many  of  the  new  millionaires  become  great  landowners 
and  set  up  great  establishments.  In  America,  where 
country  tastes  are  less  marked  and  where  the  difficulties 
of  domestic  service  are  very  great,  this  is  less  common. 
In  both  countries  the  number  of  men  with  immense 
fortunes,  absolutely  at  their  own  disposal,  has  enor- 
mously increased,  and  the  character  of  their  expendi- 
ture has  become  a  matter  of  real  national  importance. 

Much  of  it,  no  doubt,  goes  in  simple  luxury  and 
ostentation,  or  in  mere  speculation,  or  in  restoring  old 
and  dilapidated  fortunes  through  the  marriages  of  rank 
with  money  which  are  so  characteristic  of  our  time;  but 
much  also  is  devoted  to  charitable  or  philanthropic  pur- 
poses. In  this,  as  in  most  things,  motives  are  often 
very  blended.  To  men  of  such  fortunes,  such  expendi- 
ture, even  on  a  large  scale,  means  no  real  self -sacrifice, 
and  the  inducements  to  it  are  not  always  of  the  highest 
kind.  To  some  men  it  is  a  matter  of  ambition — a  legi- 
timate and  useful  ambition — to  obtain  the  enduring 
and  honourable  fame  which  attaches  to  the  founder 
of  a  great  philanthropic  or  educational  establishment. 
Others  find  that,  in  England  at  least,  large  philan- 
thropic expenditure  is  one  of  the  easiest  and  shortest 
paths  to  social  success,  bringing  men  and  women  of  low 
extraction  and  bad  manners  into  close  and  frequent  con- 
nection with  the  recognised  leaders  of  society;  while 
others  again  have  discovered  that  it  is  the  quickest  way 
of  effacing  the  stigma  which  still  in  some  degree  at- 
taches to  wealth  which  has  been  acquired  by  dishonour- 
able or  dubious  means.  Fashion,  social  ambition,  and 
social  rivalries  are  by  no  means  unknown  in  the  fields 
of  charity.  There  are  many,  however,  in  whose  philan- 


296  THE 

thropy  the  element  of  self  has  no  place,  and  whose  sole 
desire  is  to  expend  their  money  in  forms  that  can  be  of 
most  real  and  permanent  benefit  to  others. 

Such  men  have  great  power,  and,  if  their  philanthro- 
pic expenditure  is  wisely  guided,  it  maybe  of  incalculable 
benefit.  I  have  already  indicated  many  of  the  channels 
in  which  it  may  safely  flow,  but  one  or  two  additional 
hints  on  the  subject  may  not  be  useless.  Perhaps  as  a 
general  rule  these  men  will  find  that  they  can  act  most 
wisely  by  strengthening  and  enlarging  old  charities 
which  are  really  good,  rather  than  by  founding  new 
ones.  Competition  is  the  soul  of  industry,  but  cer- 
tainly not  of  charity,  and  there  is  in  England  a  de- 
plorable waste  of  money  and  machinery  through  the 
excessive  multiplication  of  institutions  intended  for  the 
same  objects.  The  kind  of  ambition  to  which  I  have 
just  referred  tends  to  make  men  prefer  new  charities 
which  can  be  identified  with  their  names;  the  paid 
officials  connected  with  charities  have  become  a  large 
and  powerful  profession,  and  their  influence  is  natu- 
rally used  in  the  same  direction;  the  many  different 
religious  bodies  in  the  country  often  refuse  to  combine, 
and  each  desires  to  have  its  own  institutions;  and  there 
are  fashions  in  charity  which,  while  they  greatly  stimu- 
late generosity,  have  too  often  the  effect  of  diverting  it 
from  the  older  and  more  unobtrusive  forms.  On  the 
other  hand,  one  of  the  most  important  facts  in  our  pre- 
sent economical  condition  is  that  an  extraordinary  and 
almost  unparalleled  development  of  industrial  pros- 
perity has  been  accompanied  by  extreme  and  long-con- 
tinued agricultural  depression  and  by  a  great  rail  in 
the  rate  of  interest.  Wealth  in  many  forms  is  accumu- 


OLD  AND  NEW  CHARITIES  097 

lating  with  wonderful  rapidity,  and  the  increased  rate 
of  wages  is  diffusing  prosperity  among  the  working 
classes;  but  those  who  depend  directly  or  indirectly  on 
agricultural  rents  or  on  interest  of  money  invested  in 
trust  securities  have  been  suffering  severely,  and  they 
comprise  some  of  the  most  useful,  blameless,  and  meri- 
torious classes  in  the  community.  The  same  causes 
that  have  injured  them  have  fallen  with  crushing  seve- 
rity on  old-established  institutions  which  usually  derive 
their  income  largely  or  entirely  from  the  rent  of  land 
or  from  money  invested  in  the  public  funds.  The  bit- 
ter cry  of  distress  that  is  rising  from  the  hospitals  and 
many  other  ancient  charities,  from  the  universities, 
from  the  clergy  of  the  Established  Church,  abundantly 
proves  it. 

The  preference,  however,  to  be  given  to  old  charities 
rather  than  to  new  ones  is  subject  to  very  many  excep- 
tions. It  does  not  apply  to  new  countries  or  to  the 
many  cases  in  which  changes  and  developments  of  in- 
dustry have  planted  vast  agglomerations  of  population 
in  districts  which  were  once  but  thinly  populated,  and 
therefore  but  little  provided  with  charitable  or  educa- 
tional institutions.  Nor  does  it  apply  to  the  many  cases 
in  which  the  circumstances  of  modern  life  have  called 
into  existence  new  forms  of  charity,  new  wants,  new 
dangers  and  evils  to  be  combated,  new  departments  of 
knowledge  to  be  cultivated.  One  of  the  greatest  diffi- 
culties of  the  older  universities  is  that  of  providing,  out 
of  their  shrinking  endowments,  for  the  teaching  of 
branches  of  science  and  knowledge  which  have  only 
come  into  existence,  or  at  least  into  prominence,  long 
after  these  universities  were  established,  and  some  of 


298  THE  MAP  °F 

which  require  not  only  trained  teachers  but  costly 
apparatus  and  laboratories.  Increasing  international 
competition  and  enlarged  scientific  knowledge  have 
rendered  necessary  an  amount  of  technical  and  agri- 
cultural education  never  dreamed  of  by  our  ancestors; 
and  the  rise  of  the  great  provincial  towns  and  the 
greater  intensity  of  provincial  life  and  provincial  pa- 
triotism, as  well  as  the  changes  that  have  passed  over 
the  position  both  of  the  working  and  middle  classes, 
have  created  a  genuine  demand  for  educational  estab- 
lishments of  a  different  type  from  the  older  universi- 
ties. The  higher  education  of  women  is  essentially  a 
nineteenth-century  work,  and  it  has  been  carried  on 
without  the  assistance  of  old  endowments  and  with  very 
little  help  from  modern  Parliaments.  In  the  distribu- 
tion of  public  funds  a  class  which  is  wholly  unrepre- 
sented in  Parliament  seldom  gets  its  fair  share;  and 
higher  education,  like  most  forms  of  science,  like  most 
of  the  higher  forms  of  literature,  and  like  many  valu- 
able forms  of  research,  never  can  be  self-supporting. 
There  are  great  branches  of  knowledge  which  with- 
out established  endowments  must  remain  uncultivated, 
or  be  cultivated  only  by  men  of  considerable  private 
means.  Some  invaluable  curative  agencies,  such  as  con- 
valescent homes  in  different  countries  and  climates  and 
for  different  diseases,  have  grown  up  in  our  own  genera- 
tion, as  well  as  some  of  the  most  fruitful  forms  of  medi- 
cal research  and  some  of  the  most  efficacious  methods 
of  giving  healthy  change  and  brightness  to  the  lives 
that  are  most  monotonous  and  overstrained.  Every 
great  revolution  in  industry,  in  population,  and  even 
in  knowledge,  brings  with  it  new  and  special  wants,  and 


STATE  AID  299 

there  are  cases  in  which  assisted  emigration  is  one  of 
the  best  forms  of  charity. 

These  are  but  a  few  illustrations  of  the  directions  in 
which  the  large  surplus  funds  which  many  of  the  very 
rich  are  prepared  to  expend  on  philanthropic  purposes 
may  profitably  go.  There  is  a  marked  and  increasing 
tendency  in  our  age  to  meet  all  the  various  exigencies 
of  Society,  as  they  arise,  by  State  aid  resting  on  com- 
pulsory taxation.  In  countries  where  the  levels  of  for- 
tune are  such  that  few  men  have  incomes  greatly  in 
excess  of  their  real  or  factitious  wants,  this  method  will 
probably  be  necessary;  but  many  of  the  wants  I  have 
described  can  be  better  met  by  the  old  English  method 
of  intelligent  private  generosity,  and  in  a  country  in 
which  the  number  of  the  very  rich  is  so  great  and  so 
increasing,  this  generosity  should  not  be  wanting. 


300  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 


CHAPTEE  XIV 

MARRIAGE 

THE  beautiful  saying  of  Newton,  that  he  felt  like  a 
child  who  had  been  picking  up  a  few  pebbles  on  the 
shore  of  the  great  ocean  of  undiscovered  truth,  may 
well  occur  to  any  writer  who  attempts  to  say  something 
on  the  vast  subject  of  marriage.  The  infinite  variety 
of  circumstances  and  characters  affects  it  in  infinitely 
various  ways,  and  all  that  can  here  be  done  is  to  col- 
lect a  few  somewhat  isolated  and  miscellaneous  remarks 
upon  it.  Yet  it  is  a  subject  which  cannot  be  omitted 
in  a  book  like  this.  In  numerous  cases  it  is  the  great 
turning-point  of  a  life,  and  in  all  cases  when  it  takes 
place  it  is  one  of  the  most  important  of  its  events. 
Whatever  else  marriage  may  do  or  fail  to  do,  it  never 
leaves  a  man  unchanged.  His  intellect,  his  character, 
his  happiness,  his  way  of  looking  on  the  world,  will  all 
be  influenced  by  it.  If  it  does  not  raise  or  strengthen 
him  it  will  lower  or  weaken.  If  it  does  not  deepen 
happiness  it  will  impair  it.  It  brings  with  it  duties, 
interests,  habits,  hopes,  cares,  sorrows,  and  joys  that 
will  penetrate  into  every  fissure  of  his  nature  and 
modify  the  whole  course  of  his  life. 

It  is  strange  to  think  with  how  much  levity  and  how 
little  knowledge  a  contract  which  is  so  indissoluble 
and  at  the  same  time  so  momentous  is  constantly 


MOTIVES  FOR  MARRIAGE  3Q1 

assumed  ;  sometimes  under  the  influence  of  a  blinding 
passion  and  at  an  age  when  life  is  still  looked  upon  as 
a  romance  or  an  idyll;  sometimes  as  a  matter  of  mere 
ambition  and  calculation,  through  a  desire  for  wealth  or 
title  or  position.  Men  and  women  rely  on  the  force  of 
habit  and  necessity  to  accommodate  themselves  to  con- 
ditions they  have  never  really  understood  or  realised. 

In  most  cases  different  motives  combine,  though  in 
different  degrees.  Sometimes  an  overpowering  affec- 
tion for  the  person  is  the  strongest  motive  and  eclipses 
all  others.  Sometimes  the  main  motive  to  marriage  is 
a  desire  to  be  married.  It  is  to  obtain  a  settled  house- 
hold and  position;  to  be  relieved  from  the  '  unchartered 
freedom'  and  the  'vague  desires'  of  a  lonely  life;  to 
find  some  object  of  affection;  to  acquire  the  steady 
habits  and  the  exemption  from  household  cares  which 
are  essential  to  a  career;  to  perpetuate  a  race;  perhaps 
to  escape  from  family  discomforts,  or  to  introduce  a 
new  and  happy  influence  into  a  family.  With  these 
motives  a  real  affection  for  a  particular  person  is  united, 
but  it  is  not  of  such  a  character  as  to  preclude  choice, 
judgment,  comparison,  and  a  consideration  of  worldly 
advantages. 

It  is  a  wise  saying  of  Swift  that  there  would  be  fewer 
unhappy  marriages  in  the  world  if  women  thought  less 
of  making  nets  and  more  of  making  cages.  The  quali- 
ties that  attract,  fascinate,  and  dazzle  are  often  widely 
different  from  those  which  are  essential  to  a  happy 
marriage.  Sometimes  they  are  distinctly  hostile  to  it. 
More  frequently  they  conduce  to  it,  but  only  in  an 
inferior  or  subsidiary  degree.  The  turn  of  mind  and 
character  that  makes  the  accomplished  flirt  is  certainly 


302  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

not  that  which  promises  best  for  the  happiness  of  a  mar- 
ried life;  and  distinguished  beauty,  brilliant  talents, 
and  the  heroic  qualities  that  play  a  great  part  in  the 
affairs  of  life,  and  shine  conspicuously  in  the  social 
sphere,  sink  into  a  minor  place  among  the  elements  of 
married  happiness.  In  marriage  the  identification  of 
two  lives  is  so  complete  that  it  brings  every  faculty  and 
gift  into  play,  but  in  degrees  and  proportions  very  dif- 
ferent from  public  life  or  casual  intercourse  and  rela- 
tions. The  most  essential  are  often  wanting  in  a  bril- 
liant life,  and  are  largely  developed  in  lives  and  characters 
that  rise  little,  if  at  all,  above  the  commonplace.  In 
the  words  of  a  very  shrewd  man  of  the  world :  *  Before 
marriage  the  shape,  the  figure,  the  complexion  carry  all 
before  them;  after  marriage  the  mind  and  character 
unexpectedly  claim  their  share,  and  that  the  largest,  of 
importance.'1 

The  relation  is  one  of  the  closest  intimacy  and  confi- 
dence, and  if  the  identity  of  interest  between  the  two 
partners  is  not  complete,  each  has  an  almost  immeasu- 
rable power  of  injuring  the  other.  A  moral  basis  of 
sterling  qualities  IB  of  capital  importance.  A  true, 
honest,  and  trustworthy  nature,  capable  of  self-sacri- 
fice and  self-restraint,  should  rank  in  the  first  line,  and 
after  that  a  kindly,  equable,  and  contented  temper,  a 
power  of  sympathy,  a  habit  of  looking  at  the  better 
and  brighter  side  of  men  and  things.  Of  intellectual 
qualities,  judgment,  tact,  and  order  are  perhaps  the 
most  valuable.  Above  almost  all  things,  men  should 
seek  in  marriage  perfect  sanity,  and  dread  everything 


1  Melbourne  Papers,  p.  72. 


CHOICE  OF  PARTNERS 


like  hysteria.  Beauty  will  continue  to  be  a  delight, 
though  with  much  diminished  power,  but  grace  and 
the  charm  of  manner  will  retain  their  full  attraction 
to  the  last.  They  brighten  in  innumerable  ways  the 
little  things  of  life,  and  life  is  mainly  made  up  of  little 
things,  exposed  to  petty  frictions,  and  requiring  small 
decisions  and  small  sacrifices.  Wide  interests  and  large 
appreciations  are,  in  the  marriage  relation,  more  impor- 
tant than  any  great  constructive  or  creative  talent,  and 
the  power  to  soothe,  to  sympathise,  to  counsel,  and  to 
endure,  than  the  highest  qualities  of  the  hero  or  the 
saint.  It  is  by  these  alone  that  the  married  life  attains 
its  full  measure  of  perfection. 

'  Tu  mihi  curarum  requies,  tu  nocte  vel  atra 
Lumen,  et  in  solis  tu  mihi  turba  locis.'  * 

But  while  this  is  true  of  all  marriages,  it  is  obvious 
that  different  professions  and  circumstances  of  life  will 
demand  different  qualities.  A  hard-working  labouring 
man,  or  a  man  who,  though  not  labouring  with  his 
hands,  is  living  a  life  of  poverty  and  struggle,  will  not 
seek  in  marriage  a  type  of  character  exactly  the  same 
as  a  man  who  is  born  to  a  great  position,  and  who  has 
large  social  and  administrative  duties  to  discharge. 
The  wife  of  a  clergyman  immersed  in  the  many  inter- 
ests of  a  parish;  the  wife  of  a  soldier  or  a  merchant, 
who  may  have  to  live  in  many  lands,  with  long  periods 
of  separation  from  her  husband,  and  perhaps  amid 
many  hardships;  the  wife  of  an  active  and  ambitious 
politician;  the  wife  of  a  busy  professional  man  inces- 

"nbuUns. 


304  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

santly  occupied  outside  his  home;  the  wife  of  a  man 
whose  health  or  business  or  habits  keep  him  constantly 
in  his  house,  will  each  need  some  special  qualities. 
There  are  few  things  in  which  both  men  and  women 
naturally  differ  more  than  in  the  elasticity  and  adapt- 
iveness  of  their  natures,  in  their  power  of  bearing  mo- 
notony, in  the  place  which  habit,  routine,  and  variety 
hold  in  their  happiness;  and  in  different  kinds  of  life 
these  things  have  very  different  degrees  of  importance. 
Special  family  circumstances,  such  as  children  by  a 
former  marriage,  or  difficult  and  delicate  relations  with 
members  of  the  family  of  one  partner,  will  require  the 
exercise  of  special  qualities.  Such  relations,  indeed, 
are  often  one  of  the  most  searching  and  severe  tests 
of  the  sterling  qualities  of  female  character. 

Probably,  on  the  whole,  the  best  presumption  of  a 
successful  choice  in  marriage  will  be  found  where  the 
wife  has  not  been  educated  in  circumstances  or  ideas 
absolutely  dissimilar  from  those  of  her  married  life. 
Marriages  of  different  races  or  colours  are  rarely  happy, 
and  the  same  thing  is  true  of  marriages  between  persons 
of  social  levels  that  are  so  different  as  to  entail  great 
differences  of  manners  and  habits.  Other  and  minor 
disparities  of  circumstances  between  girl  life  and  mar- 
ried life  will  have  their  effect,  but  they  are  less  strong 
and  less  invariable.  Some  of  the  happiest  marriages 
have  been  marriages  of  emancipation,  which  removed  a 
girl  from  uncongenial  family  surroundings,  and  placed 
her  for  the  first  time  in  an  intellectual  and  moral  at- 
mosphere in  which  she  could  freely  breathe.  At  the 
same  time,  in  the  choice  of  a  wife,  the  character,  cir- 
cumstances, habits,  and  tone  of  the  family  in  which  she 


THE  PROPAGATION  OF  CHILDREN  3Q5 

has  been  brought  up  will  always  be  an  important  ele- 
ment. There  are  qualities  of  race,  there  are  pedigrees 
of  character,  which  it  is  never  prudent  to  neglect. 
Franklin  quotes  with  approval  the  advice  of  a  wise  man 
to  choose  a  wife  '  out  of  a  bunch,'  as  girls  brought  up 
together  improve  each  other  by  emulation,  learn  mutual 
self-sacrifice  and  forbearance,  rub  off  their  angularities, 
and  are  not  suffered  to  develop  overweening  self-conceit. 
A  family  where  the  ruling  taste  is  vulgar,  where  the 
standard  of  honour  is  low,  where  extravagance  and  self- 
indulgence  and  want  of  order  habitually  prevail,  creates 
an  atmosphere  which  it  needs  a  strong  character  alto- 
gether to  escape.  There  is  also  the  great  question  of 
physical  health.  A  man  should  seek  in  marriage  rather 
to  raise  than  to  depress  the  physical  level  of  his  family, 
and  above  all  not  to  introduce  into  it  grave,  well-ascer- 
tained hereditary  disease.  Of  all  forms  of  self-sacrifice 
hardly  any  is  at  once  so  plainly  right  and  so  plainly  use- 
ful as  the  celibacy  of  those  who  are  tainted  with  such 
disease. 

There  is  no  subject  on  which  religious  teachers  have 
dwelt  more  than  upon  marriage  and  the  relation  of  the 
sexes,  and  it  has  been  continually  urged  that  the  propa- 
gation of  children  is  its  first  end.  It  is  strange,  how- 
ever, to  observe  how  almost  absolutely  in  the  popular 
ethics  of  Christendom  such  considerations  as  that  which 
I  have  last  mentioned  have  been  neglected.  If  one  of 
the  most  responsible  things  that  a  man  can  do  is  to 
bring  a  human  being  into  the  world,  one  of  his  first 
and  most  obvious  duties  is  to  do  what  he  can  to  secure 
that  it  shall  come  into  the  world  with  a  sound  body  and 
a  sane  mind.  This  is  the  best  inheritance  that  parents 
20 


306  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

can  leave  their  children,  and  it  is  in  a  large  degree 
within  their  reach.  Immature  marriage,  excessive 
child-bearing,  marriages  of  near  relations,  and,  above 
all,  marriages  with  some  grave  hereditary  physical  or 
mental  disease  or  some  great  natural  defect,  may  bring 
happiness  to  the  parents,  but  can  scarcely  fail  to  entail 
a  terrible  penalty  upon  their  children.  It  is  clearly 
recognised  that  one  of  the  first  duties  of  parents  to 
their  children  is  to  secure  them  in  early  life  not  only 
good  education,  but  also,  as  far  as  is  within  their  power, 
the  conditions  of  a  healthy  being.  But  the  duty  goes 
back  to  an  earlier  stage,  and  in  marriage  the  prospects 
of  the  unborn  should  never  be  forgotten.  This  is  one 
of  the  considerations  which  in  the  ethics  of  the  future 
is  likely  to  have  a  wholly  different  place  from  any  that 
it  has  occupied  in  the  past. 

A  kindred  consideration,  little  less  important  and 
almost  equally  neglected  in  popular  teaching,  is  that  it 
is  a  moral  offence  to  bring  children  into  the  world  with 
no  prospect  of  being  able  to  provide  for  them.  It  is 
difficult  to  exaggerate  the  extent  to  which  the  neglect 
of  these  two  duties  has  tended  to  the  degradation  and 
unhappiness  of  the  world. 

The  greatly  increased  importance  which  the  Darwin- 
ian theory  has  given  to  heredity  should  tend  to  make 
men  more  sensible  of  the  first  of  these  duties.  In  mar- 
riage there  are  not  only  reciprocal  duties  between  the 
two  partners;  there  are  also,  more  than  in  any  other 
act  of  life,  plain  duties  to  the  race.  The  hereditary 
nature  of  insanity  and  of  some  forms  of  disease  is  an 
indisputable  truth.  The  hereditary  transmission  of 
character  has  not,  it  is  true,  as  yet  acquired  this  posi- 


HEREDITARY  TRANSMISSION  OF  CHARACTER     3Q7 

tion  ;  and  there  is  a  grave  schism  on  the  subject  in  the 
Darwinian  school.  But  that  it  exists  to  some  extent 
few  close  observers  will  doubt,  and  it  is  in  a  high  de- 
gree probable  that  it  is  one  of  the  most  powerful  mould- 
ing influences  of  life.  No  more  probable  explanation 
has  yet  been  given  of  the  manner  in  which  human  na- 
ture has  been  built  up,  and  of  the  various  instincts  and 
tastes  with  which  we  are  born,  than  the  doctrine  that 
habits  and  modes  of  thought  and  feeling  indulged  in 
and  produced  by  circumstances  in  former  generations 
have  gradually  become  innate  in  the  race,  and  exhibit 
themselves  spontaneously  and  instinctively  and  quite 
independently  of  the  circumstances  that  originally  pro- 
duced them.  According  to  this  theory  the  same  pro- 
cess is  continually  going  on.  Man  has  slowly  emerged 
from  a  degraded  and  bestial  condition.  The  pressure 
of  long-continued  circumstances  has  moulded  him  into 
his  special  type;  but  new  feelings  and  habits,  or  modi- 
fications of  old  feelings  and  habits,  are  constantly  pass- 
ing not  only  into  his  life  but  into  his  nature,  taking 
root  there,  and  in  some  degree  at  least  reproducing 
themselves  by  the  force  of  heredity  in  the  innate  dispo- 
sition of  his  offspring.  If  this  be  true,  it  gives  a  new 
and  terrible  importance  both  to  the  duty  of  self-cul- 
ture and  to  the  duty  of  wise  selection  in  marriage.  It 
means  that  children  are  likely  to  be  influenced  not  only 
by  what  we  do  and  by  what  we  say,  but  also  by  what  we 
are,  and  that  the  characters  of  the  parents  in  different 
degrees  and  combinations  will  descend  even  to  a  remote 
posterity. 

It  throws  a  not  less  terrible  light  upon  the  miscalcula- 
tions of  the  past.     On  this  hypothesis,  as  Mr.  Galton 


308  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

has  truly  shown,  it  is  scarcely  possible  to  exaggerate 
the  evil  which  has  been  brought  upon  the  world  by  the 
religious  glorification  of  celibacy  and  by  the  enormous 
development  and  encouragement  of  the  monastic  life. 
Generation  after  generation,  century  after  century, 
and  over  the  whole  wide  surface  of  Christendom,  this 
conception  of  religion  drew  into  a  sterile  celibacy 
nearly  all  who  were  most  gentle,  most  unselfish,  most 
earnest,  studious,  and  religious,  most  susceptible  to 
moral  and  intellectual  enthusiasm,  and  thus  prevented 
them  from  transmitting  to  posterity  the  very  qualities 
that  are  most  needed  for  the  happiness  and  the  moral 
progress  of  the  race.  "Whenever  the  good  and  evil 
resulting  from  different  religious  systems  come  to  be 
impartially  judged,  this  consideration  is  likely  to  weigh 
heavily  in  the  scale.1 

Returning,  however,  to  the  narrower  sphere  of  par- 
ticular marriages,  it  may  be  observed  that  although  full 
confidence,  and,  in  one  sense,  complete  identification  of 
interests,  are  the  characteristics  of  a  perfect  marriage, 
this  does  not  by  any  means  imply  that  one  partner 
should  be  a  kind  of  duplicate  of  the  other.  Woman  is 
not  a  mere  weaker  man;  and  the  happiest  marriages  are 
often  those  in  which,  in  tastes,  character,  and  intellec- 
tual qualities,  the  wife  is  rather  the  complement  than 
the  reflection  of  her  husband.  In  intellectual  things 


1  Gallon's  Hereditary  Genius,  dren  behind  them.  This,  and 
pp.  357-8.  It  may  be  argued,  the  much  greater  mortality  of 
on  the  other  side,  that  the  mon-  weak  infant  life,  must  have 
asteries  consigned  to  celibacy  a  strengthened  the  race  in  an  age 
great  proportion  of  the  weaker  when  sanitary  science  was  un- 
physical  natures,  who  would  known  and  when  external  con- 
otherwise  have  left  sickly  chil-  ditions  were  very  unfavourable. 


THE  HAPPIEST  MARRIAGES  309 

this  is  constantly  shown.  The  purely  practical  and  pro- 
saic intellect  is  united  with  an  intellect  strongly  tinged 
with  poetry  and  romance;  the  man  whose  strength  is 
in  facts,  with  the  woman  whose  strength  is  in  ideas ;  the 
man  who  is  wholly  absorbed  in  science  or  politics  or 
economical  or  industrial  problems  and  pursuits,  with  a 
woman  who  possesses  the  talent  or  at  least  the  tem- 
perament of  an  artist  or  musician.  In  such  cases  one 
partner  brings  sympathies  or  qualities,  tastes  or  ap- 
preciations or  kinds  of  knowledge  in  which  the  other 
is  most  defective;  and  by  the  close  and  constant  con- 
tact of  two  dissimilar  types  each  is,  often  insensibly, 
but  usually  very  effectually,  improved.  Men  differ 
greatly  in  their  requirements  of  intellectual  sympa- 
thy. A  perfectly  commonplace  intellectual  surround- 
ing will  usually  do  something  to  stunt  or  lower  a  fine 
intelligence,  but  it  by  no  means  follows  that  each 
man  finds  the  best  intellectual  atmosphere  to  be 
that  which  is  most  in  harmony  with  his  own  special 
talent. 

To  many,  hard  intellectual  labour  is  an  eminently 
isolated  thing,  and  what  they  desire  most  in  the  family 
circle  is  to  cast  off  all  thought  of  it.  I  have  known 
two  men  who  were  in  the  first  rank  of  science,  intimate 
friends,  and  both  of  them  of  very  domestic  characters. 
One  of  them  was  accustomed  to  do  nearly  all  his  work 
in  the  presence  of  his  wife,  and  in  the  closest  possible 
co-operation  with  her.  The  other  used  to  congratulate 
himself  that  none  of  his  family  had  his  own  scientific 
tastes,  and  that  when  he  left  his  work  and  came  into 
his  family  circle  he  had  the  rest  of  finding  himself  in 
an  atmosphere  that  was  entirely  different.  Some  men 


310  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

of  letters  need  in  their  work  constant  stimulus,  in- 
terest, and  sympathy.  Others  desire  only  to  develop 
their  talent  uncontrolled,  uninfluenced,  and  undis- 
turbed, and  with  an  atmosphere  of  cheerful  quiet 
around  them. 

What  is  true  of  intellect  is  also  in  a  large  degree  true 
of  character.  Two  persons  living  constantly  together 
should  have  many  tastes  and  sympathies  in  common, 
and  their  characters  will  in  most  cases  tend  to  assimi- 
late. Yet  great  disparities  of  character  may  subsist  in 
marriage,  not  only  without  evil  but  often  with  great 
advantage.  This  is  especially  the  case  where  each  sup- 
plies what  is  most  needed  in  the  other.  Some  natures 
require  sedatives  and  others  tonics ;  and  it  will  often  be 
found  in  a  happy  marriage  that  the  union  of  two  dis- 
similar natures  stimulates  the  idle  and  inert,  moderates 
the  impetuous,  gives  generosity  to  the  parsimonious  and 
order  to  the  extravagant,  imparts  the  spirit  of  caution 
or  the  spirit  of  enterprise  which  is  most  needed,  and 
corrects,  by  contact  with  a  healthy  and  cheerful  nature, 
the  morbid  and  the  desponding. 

Marriage  may  also  very  easily  have  opposite  effects. 
It  is  not  unfrequently  founded  on  the  sympathy  of  a 
common  weakness,  and  when  this  is  the  case  it  can 
hardly  fail  to  deepen  the  defect.  On  the  whole,  wo- 
men, in  some  of  the  most  valuable  forms  of  strength — 
in  the  power  of  endurance  and  in  the  power  of  perseve- 
rance— are  at  least  the  equals  of  men.  But  weak  and 
tremulous  nerves,  excessive  sensibility,  and  an  exagge- 
rated share  of  impulse  and  emotion,  are  indissolubly 
associated  with  certain  charms,  both  of  manner  and 
character,  which  are  intensely  feminine,  and  to  many 


SPHERES  OF  AUTHORITY 

men  intensely  attractive.  When  a  nature  of  this  kind 
is  wedded  to  a  weak  or  a  desponding  man,  the  result 
will  seldom  be  happiness  to  either  party,  but  with  a 
strong  man  such  marriages  are  often  very  happy. 
Strength  may  wed  with  weakness  or  with  strength, 
but  weakness  should  beware  of  mating  itself  with  weak- 
ness. It  needs  the  oak  to  support  the  ivy  with  impu- 
nity, and  there  are  many  who  find  the  constant  contact 
of  a  happy  and  cheerful  nature  the  first  essential  of 
their  happiness. 

As  it  is  not  wise  or  right  that  either  partner  in  mar- 
riage should  lose  his  or  her  individuality,  so  it  is  right 
that  each  should  have  an  independent  sphere  of  autho- 
rity. It  is  assumed,  of  course,  that  there  is  the  perfect 
trust  which  should  be  the  first  condition  of  marriage 
and  also  a  reasonable  judgment.  Many  marriages  have 
been  permanently  marred  because  the  woman  has  been 
given  no  independence  in  money  matters  and  is  obliged 
to  come  for  each  small  thing  to  her  husband.  In  gene- 
ral the  less  the  husband  meddles  in  household  matters, 
or  the  wife  in  professional  ones,  the  better.  The  edu- 
cation of  very  young  children  of  both  sexes,  and  of  girls 
of  a  mature  age,  will  fall  almost  exclusively  to  the  wife. 
The  education  of  the  boys  when  they  have  emerged  from 
childhood  will  be  rather  governed  by  the  judgment  of 
the  man.  Many  things  will  be  regulated  in  common; 
but  the  larger  interests  of  the  family  will  usually  fall 
chiefly  to  one  partner,  the  smaller  and  more  numerous 
ones  to  the  other. 

On  such  matters,  however,  generalisations  have  little 
value,  as  exceptions  are  very  numerous.  Differences  of 
character,  age,  experience,  and  judgment,  and  count- 


312  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

less  special  circumstances,  will  modify  the  family  type, 
and  it  is  in  discovering  these  differences  that  wisdom 
in  marriage  mainly  consists.  The  directions  in  which 
married  life  may  influence  character  are  also  very  many; 
but  in  the  large  number  of  cases  in  which  it  brings  with 
it  a  great  weight  of  household  cares  and  family  inter- 
ests it  will  usually  be  found  with  both  partners,  but 
especially  with  the  woman,  at  once  to  strengthen  and 
to  narrow  unselfishness.  She  will  live  very  little  for 
herself,  but  very  exclusively  for  her  family.  On  the 
intellectual  side  such  marriages  usually  give  a  sounder 
judgment  and  a  wider  knowledge  of  the  world  rather 
than  purely  intellectual  tastes.  It  is  a  good  thing  when 
the  education  which  precedes  marriage  not  only  pre- 
pares for  the  duties  of  the  married  life,  but  also  fur- 
nishes a  fair  share  of  the  interests  and  tastes  which  that 
state  will  probably  tend  to  weaken.  The  hard  battle  of 
life,  and  the  anxieties  and  sorrows  that  a  family  seldom 
fails  to  bring,  will  naturally  give  an  increased  depth  and 
seriousness  to  character.  There  are,  however,  natures 
which,  though  they  may  be  tainted  by  no  grave  vice, 
are  so  incurably  frivolous  that  even  this  education  will 
fail  to  influence  them.  As  Emerson  says,  '  A  fly  is  as 
untameable  as  a  hyasna.' 

The  age  that  is  most  suited  for  marriage  is  also  a 
matter  which  will  depend  largely  on  individual  circum- 
stances. The  ancients,  as  is  well  known,  placed  it,  in 
the  case  of  the  man,  far  back,  and  they  desired  a  great 
difference  of  age  between  the  man  and  the  woman. 
Plato  assigned  between  thirty  and  thirty-five,  and  Aris- 
totle thirty-seven,  as  the  best  age  for  a  man  to  marry, 
while  they  would  have  the  girls  married  at  eighteen  or 


EARLY  MARRIAGES  313 

twenty.1  In  their  view,  however,  marriage  was  looked 
upon  very  exclusively  from  the  side  of  the  man  and  of 
the  State.  They  looked  on  it  mainly  as  the  means  of 
producing  healthy  citizens,  and  it  was  in  their  eyes 
almost  wholly  dissociated  from  the  passion  of  love. 
Montaigne,  in  one  of  his  essays,  has  expounded  this 
view  with  the  frankest  cynicism.2  Yet  few  things  are 
so  important  in  marriage  as  that  the  man  should  bring 
into  it  the  freshness  and  the  purity  of  an  untried  nature, 
and  that  the  early  poetry  and  enthusiasm  of  life  should 
at  least  in  some  degree  blend  with  the  married  state. 
Nor  is  it  desirable  that  a  relation  in  which  the  forma- 
tion of  habits  plays  so  large  a  part  should  be  deferred 
until  character  has  lost  its  flexibility,  and  until  habits 
have  been  irretrievably  hardened. 

On  the  other  hand  there  are  invincible  arguments 
against  marriages  entered  into  at  an  age  when  neither 
partner  has  any  real  knowledge  of  the  world  and  of 
men.  Only  too  often  they  involve  many  illusions  and 
leave  many  regrets.  Some  kinds  of  knowledge,  such 
as  that  given  by  extended  travel,  are  far  more  easily 
acquired  before  than  after  marriage.  Usually  very 
early  marriages  are  improvident  marriages,  made  with 
no  sufficient  provision  for  the  children,  and  often  they 
are  immature  marriages,  bringing  with  them  grave 
physical  evils.  In  those  cases  in  which  a  great  place 
or  position  is  to  be  inherited,  it  is  seldom  a  good  thing 
that  the  interval  of  age  between  the  owner  and  his  heir 
should  be  so  small  that  inheritance  will  probably  be 
postponed  till  the  confines  of  old  age. 


Republic,  Book  V.     Politics,  Book  VII.  •  Livre  III.  Ch.  5. 


314  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

Marriages  entered  into  in  the  decline  of  life  stand 
somewhat  apart  from  others,  and  are  governed  by  other 
motives.  What  men  chiefly  seek  in  them  is  a  guiding 
hand  to  lead  them  gently  down  the  last  descent  of  life. 

On  this,  as  on  most  subjects  connected  with  marriage, 
no  general  or  inflexible  rule  can  be  laid  down.  Moral- 
ists have  chiefly  dilated  on  the  dangers  of  deferred  mar- 
riages; economists  on  the  evils  of  improvident  mar- 
riages. Each  man's  circumstances  and  disposition  must 
determine  his  course.  On  the  whole,  however,  in  most 
civilised  countries  the  prevailing  tendencies  are  in  the 
direction  of  an  increased  postponement  of  marriage. 
Among  the  rich,  the  higher  standard  of  luxury  and  re- 
quirements, the  comforts  of  club  life,  and  also,  I  think, 
the  diminished  place  which  emotion  is  taking  in  life,  all 
lead  to  this,  while  the  spread  of  providence  and  indus- 
trial habits  among  the  poor  has  the  same  tendency. 

A  female  pen  is  so  much  more  competent  than  a  mas- 
culine one  for  dealing  with  marriage  from  the  woman's 
point  of  view  that  I  do  not  attempt  to  enter  on  that 
field.  It  is  impossible,  however,  to  overlook  the  marked 
tendency  of  nineteenth-century  civilisation  to  give 
women,  both  married  and  unmarried,  a  degree  of  inde- 
pendence and  self-reliance  far  exceeding  that  of  the 
past.  The  legislation  of  most  civilised  countries  has 
granted  them  full  protection  for  their  property  and 
their  earnings,  increased  rights  of  guardianship  over 
their  children,  a  wider  access  to  professional  life,  and 
even  a  very  considerable  voice  in  the  management  of 
public  affairs;  and  these  influences  have  been  strength- 
ened by  great  improvement  in  female  education,  and  by 
a  change  in  the  social  tone  which  has  greatly  extended 


THE  INDEPENDENCE  OF  WOMEN  315 

their  latitude  of  independent  action.  For  my  own  part, 
I  have  no  doubt  that  this  movement  is,  on  the  whole, 
beneficial,  not  only  to  those  who  have  to  fight  a  lonely 
battle  in  life,  but  also  to  those  who  are  in  the  marriage 
state.  Larger  interests,  wider  sympathies,  a  more  dis- 
ciplined judgment,  and  a  greater  power  of  independence 
and  self-control  naturally  accompany  it;  and  these 
things  can  never  be  wholly  wasted.  They  will  often 
be  called  into  active  exercise  by  the  many  vicissitudes 
of  the  married  life.  They  will,  perhaps,  be  still  more 
needed  when  the  closest  of  human  ties  is  severed  by  the 
great  Divorce  of  Death. 


316  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 


CHAPTEK  XV 

SUCCESS 

of  the  most  important  lessons  that  experience 
teaches  is  that  on  the  whole,  and  in  the  great  majority 
of  cases,  success  in  life  depends  more  on  character  than 
on  either  intellect  or  fortune.  Many  brilliant  excep- 
tions, no  doubt,  tend  to  obscure  the  rule,  and  some  of 
the  qualities  of  character  that  succeed  the  best  may  be 
united  with  grave  vices  or  defects;  but  on  the  whole 
the  law  is  one  that  cannot  be  questioned,  and  it  be- 
comes more  and  more  apparent  as  civilisation  advances. 
Temperance,  industry,  integrity,  frugality,  self-reli- 
ance, and  self-restraint  are  the  means  by  which  the 
great  masses  of  men  rise  from  penury  to  comfort,  and 
it  is  the  nations  in  which  these  qualities  are  most  dif- 
fused that  in  the  long  run  are  the  most  prosperous. 
Chance  and  circumstance  may  do  much.  A  happy  cli- 
mate, a  fortunate  annexation,  a  favourable  vicissitude 
in  the  course  of  commerce,  may  vastly  influence  the 
prosperity  of  nations;  anarchy,  agitation,  unjust  laws, 
and  fraudulent  enterprise  may  offer  many  opportunities 
of  individual  or  even  of  class  gains ;  but  ultimately  it 
will  be  found  that  the  nations  in  which  the  solid  indus- 
trial virtues  are  most  diffused  and  most  respected  pass 
all  others  in  the  race.  The  moral  basis  of  character 
was  the  true  foundation  of  the  greatness  of  ancient 


STRENGTH  OF  WILL  317 

Home,  and  when  that  foundation  was  sapped  the  period 
of  her  decadence  began.  The  solid,  parsimonious,  and 
industrious  qualities  of  the  French  peasantry  have  given 
their  country  the  recuperative  force  which  has  enabled 
its  greatness  to  survive  the  countless  follies  and  extrava- 
gances of  its  rulers. 

Character,  it  may  be  added,  is  especially  pre-eminent 
in  those  kinds  and  degrees  of  success  that  affect  the 
greatest  numbers  of  men  and  influence  most  largely 
their  real  happiness — in  the  success  which  secures  a 
high  level  of  material  comfort;  which  makes  domestic 
life  stable  and  happy;  which  wins  for  a  man  the  re- 
spect and  confidence  of  his  neighbours.  If  we  have 
melancholy  examples  that  very  different  qualities  often 
gain  splendid  prizes,  it  is  still  true  that  there  are  few 
walks  in  life  in  which  a  character  that  inspires  com- 
plete confidence  is  not  a  leading  element  of  success. 

In  the  paths  of  ambition  that  can  only  be  pursued  by 
the  few,  intellectual  qualities  bear  a  larger  part,  and 
there  are,  of  course,  many  works  of  genius  that  are  in 
their  own  nature  essentially  intellectual.  Yet  even  the 
most  splendid  successes  of  life  will  often  be  found  to  be 
due  much  less  to  extraordinary  intellectual  gifts  than 
to  an  extraordinary  strength  and  tenacity  of  will,  to 
the  abnormal  courage,  perseverance,  and  work-power 
that  spring  from  it,  or  to  the  tact  and  judgment  which 
make  men  skilful  in  seizing  opportunities,  and  which, 
of  all  intellectual  qualities,  are  most  closely  allied  with 
character. 

Strength  of  will  and  tact  are  not  necessarily,  perhaps 
not  generally,  conjoined,  and  often  the  first  seems 
somewhat  to  impair  the  second.  The  strong  passion, 


318  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

the  intense  conviction,  the  commanding  and  imperious 
nature  overriding  obstacles  and  defying  opposition,  that 
often  goes  with  a  will  of  abnormal  strength,  does  not 
naturally  harmonise  with  the  reticence  of  expression, 
the  delicacy  of  touch  and  management  that  characterise 
a  man  who  possesses  in  a  high  degree  the  gift  of  tact. 
There  are  circumstances  and  times  when  each  of  these 
two  things  is  more  important  than  the  other,  and  the 
success  of  each  man  will  mainly  depend  upon  the  suit- 
ability of  his  peculiar  gift  to  the  work  he  has  to  do. 
'  The  daring  pilot  in  extremity  '  is  often  by  no  means 
the  best  navigator  in  a  quiet  sea;  and  men  who  have 
shown  themselves  supremely  great  in  moments  of  crisis 
and  appalling  danger,  who  have  built  up  mighty  na- 
tions, subdued  savage  tribes,  guided  the  bark  of  the 
State  with  skill  and  courage  amid  the  storms  of  revolu- 
tion or  civil  war,  and  written  their  names  in  indelible 
letters  on  the  page  of  history,  have  sometimes  proved 
far  less  successful  than  men  of  inferior  powers  in  the 
art  of  managing  assemblies,  satisfying  rival  interests 
or  assuaging  by  judicious  compromise  old  hatreds  and 
prejudices.  We  have  had  at  least  one  conspicuous  ex- 
ample of  the  difference  of  these  two  types  in  our  own 
day  in  the  life  of  the  great  founder  of  German  Unity. 

Sometimes,  however,  men  of  great  strength  of  will 
and  purpose  possess  also  in  a  high  degree  the  gift  of 
tact ;  and  when  this  is  combined  with  soundness  of 
judgment  it  usually  leads  to  a  success  in  life  out  of  all 
proportion  to  their  purely  intellectual  qualities.  In 
nearly  all  administrative  posts,  in  all  the  many  fields 
of  labour  where  the  task  of  man  is  to  govern,  manage, 
or  influence  others,  to  adjust  or  harmonise  antagonisms 


GOOD-NATURE  319 

of  race  or  interests  or  prejudices,  to  carry  through  dif- 
ficult business  without  friction  and  by  skilful  co-opera- 
tion, this  combination  of  gifts  is  supremely  valuable. 
It  is  much  more  valuable  than  brilliancy,  eloquence,  or 
originality.  I  remember  the  comment  of  a  good  judge 
of  men  on  the  administration  of  a  great  governor  who 
was  pre-eminently  remarkable  for  this  combination. 
*  He  always  seemed  to  gain  his  point,  yet  he  never  ap- 
peared to  be  in  antagonism  with  anyone.'  The  steady 
pressure  of  a  firm  and  consistent  will  was  scarcely  felt 
when  it  was  accompanied  by  the  ready  recognition  of 
everything  that  was  good  in  the  argument  of  another, 
and  by  a  charm  of  manner  and  of  temper  which  seldom 
failed  to  disarm  opposition  and  win  personal  affection. 

The  combination  of  qualities  which,  though  not  ab- 
solutely incompatible,  are  very  usually  disconnected,  is 
the  secret  of  many  successful  lives.  Thus,  to  take  one 
of  the  most  homely,  but  one  of  the  most  useful  and 
most  pleasing  of  all  qualities — good-nature — it  will  too 
often  be  found  that  when  it  is  the  marked  and  leading 
feature  of  a  character  it  is  accompanied  by  some  want 
of  firmness,  energy,  and  judgment.  Sometimes,  how- 
ever, this  is  not  the  case,  and  there  are  then  few  greater 
elements  of  success.  It  is  curious  to  observe  the  subtle, 
magnetic  sympathy  by  which  men  feel  whether  their 
neighbour  is  a  harsh  or  a  kind  judge  of  others,  and 
how  generally  those  who  judge  harshly  are  themselves 
harshly  judged,  while  those  who  judge  others  rather 
by  their  merits  than  by  their  defects,  and  perhaps  a 
little  above  their  merits,  win  popularity. 

No  one,  indeed,  can  fail  to  notice  the  effect  of  good- 
nature in  conciliating  opposition,  securing  attachment, 


320  THE  MAP  °F  LIFE 

smoothing  the  various  paths  of  life,  and,  it  must  be 
added,  concealing  grave  faults.  Laxities  of  conduct 
that  might  well  blast  the  reputation  of  a  man  or  a 
woman  are  constantly  forgotten,  or  at  least  forgiven, 
in  those  who  lead  a  life  of  tactful  good-nature,  and  in 
the  eyes  of  the  world  this  quality  is  more  valued  than 
others  of  far  higher  and  more  solid  Avorth.  It  is  not 
unusual,  for  example,  to  see  a  lady  in  society,  who  is 
living  wholly  or  almost  wholly  for  her  pleasures,  who 
has  no  high  purpose  in  life,  no  real  sense  of  duty,  no 
capacity  for  genuine  and  serious  self-sacrifice,  but  who 
at  the  same  time  never  says  an  unkind  thing  of  her 
neighbours,  sets  up  no  severe  standard  of  conduct 
either  for  herself  or  for  others,  and  by  an  innate  ami- 
ability of  temperament  tries,  successfully  and  without 
effort,  to  make  all  around  her  cheerful  and  happy. 
She  will  probably  be  more  admired,  she  will  almost  cer- 
tainly be  more  popular,  than  her  neighbour  whose  whole 
life  is  one  of  self-denial  for  the  good  of  others,  who  sa- 
crifices to  her  duties  her  dearest  pleasures,  her  time,  her 
money,  and  her  talents,  but  who  through  some  unhappy 
turn  of  temper,  strengthened  perhaps  by  a  narrow  and 
austere  education,  is  a  harsh  and  censorious  judge  of 
the  frailties  of  her  fellows. 

It  is  also  a  curious  thing  to  observe  how  often,  when 
the  saving  gift  of  tact  is  wanting,  the  brilliant,  the 
witty,  the  ambitious,  and  the  energetic  are  passed  in 
the  race  of  life  by  men  who  in  intellectual  qualities  are 
greatly  their  inferiors.  They  dazzle,  agitate,  and  in  a 
measure  influence,  and  they  easily  win  places  in  the  se- 
cond rank;  but  something  in  the  very  exercise  of  their 
talents  continually  trammels  them,  while  judgment,  tact, 


FAULTS  OF  TACT  321 

and  good-nature,  with  comparatively  little  brilliancy, 
quietly  and  unobtrusively  take  the  helm.  There  is 
the  excellent  talker  who,  by  his  talents  and  his  acquire- 
ments, is  eminently  fitted  to  delight  and  to  instruct, 
yet  he  is  so  unable  to  repress  some  unseemly  jest  or 
some  pointed  sarcasm  or  some  humorous  paradox  that 
he  continually  leaves  a  sting  behind  him,  creates  enemies, 
destroys  his  reputation  for  sobriety  of  thought,  and 
makes  himself  impossible  in  posts  of  administration  and 
trust.  There  is  the  parliamentary  speaker  who,  amid 
shouts  of  applause,  pursues  his  adversary  with  scathing 
invective  or  merciless  ridicule,  and  who  all  the  time  is 
accumulating  animosities  against  himself,  shutting  the 
door  against  combinations  that  would  be  all  impor- 
tant to  his  career,  and  destroying  his  chances  of  party 
leadership.  There  is  the  advocate  who  can  state  his 
case  with  consummate  power,  but  who,  by  an  aggressive 
manner  or  a  too  evident  contempt  for  his  adversary,  or 
by  the  over-statement  of  a  good  cause,  habitually  throws 
the  minds  of  his  hearers  into  an  attitude  of  opposition. 
There  are  the  many  men  who,  by  ill-timed  or  too  fre- 
quent levity,  lose  all  credit  for  their  serious  qualities, 
or  who  by  pretentiousness  or  self-assertion  or  restless 
efforts  to  distinguish  themselves,  make  themselves  uni- 
versally disliked,  or  who  by  their  egotism  or  their  repe- 
titions or  their  persistence,  or  their  incapacity  of  dis- 
tinguishing essentials  from  details,  or  understanding 
the  dispositions  of  others,  or  appreciating  times  and 
seasons,  make  their  wearied  and  exasperated  hearers 
blind  to  the  most  substantial  merits.  By  faults  of  tact 
men  of  really  moderate  opinions  get  the  reputation  of 
extremists;  men  of  substantially  kindly  natures  sow 
21 


322  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

animosities  wherever  they  go;  men  of  real  patriotism 
are  regarded  as  mere  jesters  or  party  gamblers;  men 
who  possess  great  talents  and  have  rendered  great  ser- 
vices to  the  world  sink  into  inveterate  bores  and  never 
obtain  from  their  contemporaries  a  tithe  of  the  success 
which  is  their  due.  Tact  is  not  merely  shown  in  say- 
ing the  right  thing  at  the  right  time  and  to  the  right 
people ;  it  is  shown  quite  as  much  in  the  many  things 
that  are  left  unsaid  and  apparently  unnoticed,  or  are 
only  lightly  and  evasively  touched. 

It  is  certainly  not  the  highest  of  human  endowments, 
but  it  is  as  certainly  one  of  the  most  valuable,  for  it  is 
that  which  chiefly  enables  a  man  to  use  his  other  gifts 
to  advantage,  and  which  most  effectually  supplies  the 
place  of  those  that  are  wanting.  It  lies  on  the  border- 
land of  character  and  intellect.  It  implies  self-restraint, 
good  temper,  quick  and  kindly  sympathy  with  the  feel- 
ings of  others.  It  implies  also  a  perception  of  the  finer 
shadings  of  character  and  expression,  the  intellectual 
gift  which  enables  a  man  to  place  himself  in  touch  with 
great  varieties  of  disposition,  and  to  catch  those  more 
delicate  notes  of  feeling  to  which  a  coarser  nature  is 
insensible. 

It  is  perhaps  in  most  cases  more  developed  among 
women  than  among  men,  and  it  does  not  necessarily 
imply  any  other  remarkable  gift.  It  is  sometimes 
found  among  both  men  and  women  of  very  small  gene- 
ral intellectual  powers;  and  in  numerous  cases  it  serves 
only  to  add  to  the  charm  of  private  life  and  to  secure 
social  success.  Where  it  is  united  with  real  talents  it 
not  only  enables  its  possessor  to  use  these  talents  to  the 
greatest  advantage;  it  also  often  leads  those  about  him 


TACT  823 

greatly  to  magnify  their  amount.  The  presence  or  ab- 
sence of  this  gift  is  one  of  the  chief  causes  why  the  rela- 
tive value  of  different  men  is  often  so  differently  judged 
by  contemporaries  and  by  posterity;  by  those  who  have 
come  in  direct  personal  contact  with  them,  and  by  those 
who  judge  them  from  without,  and  by  the  broad  re- 
sults of  their  lives.  Eeal  tact,  like  good  manners,  is  or 
becomes  a  spontaneous  and  natural  thing.  The  man 
of  perfectly  refined  manners  does  not  consciously  and 
deliberately  on  each  occasion  observe  the  courtesies  and 
amenities  of  good  society.  They  have  become  to  him 
a  second  nature,  and  he  observes  them  as  by  a  kind  of 
instinct,  without  thought  or  effort.  In  the  same  way 
true  tact  is  something  wholly  different  from  the  elaborate 
and  artificial  attempts  to  conciliate  and  attract  which 
may  often  be  seen,  and  which  usually  bring  with  them 
the  impression  of  manoeuvre  and  insincerity. 

Though  it  may  be  found  in  men  of  very  different 
characters  and  grades  of  intellect,  tact  has  its  natural 
affinities.  Seeking  beyond  all  things  to  avoid  unneces- 
sary friction,  and  therefore  with  a  strong  leaning  to- 
wards compromise,  it  does  not  generally  or  naturally 
go  with  intense  convictions,  with  strong  enthusiasms, 
with  an  ardently  impulsive  or  emotional  temperament. 
Nor  is  it  commonly  found  among  men  of  deep  and  con- 
centrated genius,  intensely  absorbed  in  some  special  sub- 
ject. Such  men  are  often  among  the  most  unobservant 
of  the  social  sides  of  life,  and  very  bad  judges  of  cha- 
racter, though  there  will  frequently  be  found  among 
them  an  almost  childlike  unworldliness  and  simplicity 
of  nature,  and  an  essential  moderation  of  temperament 
which,  combined  with  their  superiority  of  intellect, 


324 

gives  them  a  charm  peculiarly  their  own.  Tact,  how- 
ever, has  a  natural  affinity  to  a  calm,  equable,  and  good- 
natured  temper.  It  allies  itself  with  a  quick  sense  of 
opportunity,  proportion,  and  degree;  with  the  power 
of  distinguishing  readily  and  truly  between  the  essential 
and  the  unimportant;  with  that  soundness  of  judgment 
which  not  only  guides  men  among  the  varied  events  of 
life,  and  in  their  estimate  of  those  about  them,  but  also 
enables  them  to  take  a  true  measure  of  their  own  capa- 
cities, of  the  tasks  that  are  most  fitted  for  them,  of  the 
objects  of  ambition  that  are  and  are  not  within  their 
reach. 

Though  in  its  higher  degrees  it  is  essentially  a  natu- 
ral gift,  and  is  sometimes  conspicuous  in  perfectly  un- 
educated men,  it  may  be  largely  cultivated  and  im- 
proved; and  in  this  respect  the  education  of  good 
society  is  especially  valuable.  Such  an  education,  what- 
ever else  it  may  do,  at  least  removes  many  jarring  notes 
from  the  rhythm  of  life.  It  tends  to  correct  faults  of 
manner,  demeanour,  or  pronunciation  which  tell  against 
men  to  a  degree  altogether  disproportioned  to  their  real 
importance,  and  on  which,  it  is  hardly  too  much  to  say, 
the  casual  judgments  of  the  world  are  mainly  formed ; 
and  it  also  fosters  moral  qualities  which  are  essentially 
of  the  nature  of  tact. 

We  can  hardly  have  a  better  picture  of  a  really  tact- 
ful man  than  in  some  sentences  taken  from  the  admira- 
ble pages  in  which  Cardinal  Newman  has  painted  the 
character  of  the  perfect  gentleman. 

'  It  is  almost  a  definition  of  a  gentleman  to  say  he 
is  one  who  never  inflicts  pain.  .  .  .  He  carefully 
avoids  whatever  may  cause  a  jar  or  a  jolt  in  the  minds 


DEFINITION  OF  A  GENTLEMAN  325 

of  those  with  whom  he  is  cast — all  clashing  of  opinion 
or  collision  of  feeling,  all  restraint  or  suspicion  or 
gloom  or  resentment;  his  great  concern  being  to  make 
everyone  at  ease  and  at  home.  He  has  his  eyes  on 
all  his  company;  he  is  tender  towards  the  bashful, 
gentle  towards  the  distant,  and  merciful  towards  the 
absurd;  he  can  recollect  to  whom  he  is  speaking;  he 
guards  against  unreasonable  allusions  or  topics  that 
may  irritate ;  he  is  seldom  prominent  in  conversation, 
and  never  wearisome.  He  makes  light  of  favours  while 
he  does  them,  and  seems  to  be  receiving  when  he  is  con- 
ferring. He  never  speaks  of  himself  except  when  com- 
pelled, never  defends  himself  by  a  mere  retort;  he  has 
no  ears  for  slander  or  gossip,  is  scrupulous  in  imputing 
motives  to  those  who  interfere  with  him,  and  interprets 
everything  for  the  best.  He  is  never  mean  or  little  in 
his  disputes,  never  takes  an  unfair  advantage,  never 
mistakes  personalities  or  sharp  sayings  for  arguments, 
or  insinuates  evil  which  he  dare  not  say  out.  .  .  . 
He  has  too  much  good  sense  to  be  affronted  at  insult; 
he  is  too  busy  to  remember  injuries,  and  too  indolent 
to  bear  malice.  ...  If  he  engages  in  controversy 
of  any  kind  his  disciplined  intellect  preserves  him  from 
the  blundering  discourtesy  of  better  though  less  edu- 
cated minds,  who,  like  blunt  weapons,  tear  and  hack 
instead  of  cutting  clean.  ...  He  may  be  right  or 
wrong  in  his  opinion,  but  he  is  too  clear-headed  to 
be  unjust;  he  is  as  simple  as  he  is  forcible,  and  ag 
brief  as  he  is  decisive.  Nowhere  shall  we  find  greater 
candour,  consideration,  indulgence.  He  throws  him- 
self into  the  minds  of  his  opponents,  he  accounts  for 
their  mistakes.  He  knows  the  weakness  of  human 


326  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

nature  as  well  as  its  strength,  its  province,  and  its 
limits.' 1 

I  have  said  at  the  beginning  of  this  chapter  that  cha- 
racter bears,  on  the  whole,  a  larger  part  in  promoting 
success  than  any  other  things,  and  that  a  steady  perse- 
verance in  the  industrial  virtues  seldom  fails  to  bring 
some  reward  in  the  directions  that  are  most  conducive 
to  human  happiness.  At  the  same  time  it  is  only  too 
evident  that  success  in  life  is  by  no  means  measured 
by  merit,  either  moral  or  intellectual.  Life  is  a  great 
lottery,  in  which  chance  and  opportunity  play  an  enor- 
mous part.  The  higher  qualities  are  often  less  success- 
ful than  the  medium  and  the  lower  ones.  They  are 
often  most  successful  when  they  are  blended  with  other 
and  inferior  elements,  and  a  large  share  of  the  great 
prizes  fall  to  the  unscrupulous,  the  selfish,  and  the 
cunning.  Probably,  however,  the  disparity  between 
merit  and  success  diminishes  if  we  take  the  larger  aver- 
ages, and  the  fortunes  of  nations  correspond  with  their 
real  worth  much  more  nearly  than  the  fortunes  of 
individuals.  Success,  too,  is  far  from  being  a  synonym 
for  happiness,  and  while  the  desire  for  happiness  is 
inherent  in  all  human  nature,  the  desire  for  success — 
at  least  beyond  what  is  needed  for  obtaining  a  fair 
share  of  the  comforts  of  life — is  much  less  universal. 
The  force  of  habit,  the  desire  for  a  tranquil  domestic 
life,  the  love  of  country  and  of  home,  are  often,  among 
really  able  men,  stronger  than  the  impulse  of  ambi- 
tion ;  and  a  distaste  for  the  competitions  and  conten- 
tions of  life,  for  the  increasing  responsibilities  of 

1  Newman's  Scope  and  Nature  of  University  Education,  Dis- 
course IX. 


SUCCESS  AND  HAPPINESS  327 

greatness,  and  for  the  envy  and  jealousies  that  seldom 
fail  to  follow  in  its  trail,  may  be  found  among  men 
who,  if  they  chose  to  enter  the  arena,  seem  to  have 
every  requisite  for  success.  The  strongest  man  is  not 
always  the  most  ardent  climber,  and  the  tranquil  valleys 
have  to  many  a  greater  charm  than  the  lofty  pinnacles 
of  life. 


328  THE  MAP  OF  LITE 


CHAPTEK  XVI 

TIME 

the  countless  ages  that  man  has  lived 
upon  this  globe,  it  seems  a  strange  thing  that  he  has 
so  little  learned  to  acquiesce  in  the  normal  conditions 
of  humanity.  How  large  a  proportion  of  the  melan- 
choly which  is  reflected  in  the  poetry  of  all  ages,  and 
which  is  felt  in  different  degrees  in  every  human  soul, 
is  due  not  to  any  special  or  peculiar  misfortune,  but  to 
things  that  are  common  to  the  whole  human  race  ! 
The  inexorable  flight  of  time ;  the  approach  of  old  age 
and  its  infirmities  ;  the  shadow  of  death  ;  the  mystery 
that  surrounds  our  being  ;  the  contrast  between  the 
depth  of  affection  and  the  transitoriness  and  uncer- 
tainty of  life  ;  the  spectacle  of  the  broken  lives  and 
baffled  aspirations  and  useless  labours  and  misdirected 
talents  and  pernicious  energies  and  long-continued 
delusions  that  fill  the  path  of  human  history  ;  the  deep 
sense  of  vanity  and  aimlessness  that  must  sometimes 
come  over  us  as  we  contemplate  a  world  in  which 
chance  is  so  often  stronger  than  wisdom  ;  in  which 
desert  and  reward  are  so  widely  separated  ;  in  which  liv- 
ing beings  succeed  each  other  in  such  a  vast  and  be- 
wildering redundance — eating,  killing,  suffering,  and 
dying  for  no  useful  discoverable  purpose, — all  these 
things  belong  to  the  normal  lot  or  to  the  inevitable 


THE  VANITY  OF  LIFE  329 

setting  of  human  life.  Nor  can  it  be  said  that  science, 
which  has  so  largely  extended  our  knowledge  of  the 
Universe,  or  civilisation,  which  has  so  greatly  multi- 
plied our  comforts  and  alleviated  our  pains,  has  in  any 
degree  diminished  the  sadness  they  bring.  It  seems, 
indeed,  as  if  the  more  man  is  raised  above  a  purely 
animal  existence,  and  his  mental  and  moral  powers  are 
developed,  the  more  this  kind  of  feeling  increases. 

In  few  if  any  periods  of  the  world's  history  has  it 
been  more  perceptible  in  literature  than  at  present. 
Physical  constitution  and  temperament  have  a  vast  and 
a  humiliating  power  of  deepening  or  lightening  it, 
and  the  strength  or  weakness  of  religious  belief  largely 
affects  it,  yet  the  best,  the  strongest,  the  most  believ- 
ing, and  the  most  prosperous  cannot  wholly  escape  it. 
Sometimes  it  finds  its  true  expression  in  the  lines  of 
Ealeigh  : 

Even  such  is  time  ;  which  takes  in  trust 
Our  youth,  our  joys,  and  all  we  have  1 
And  pays  us  nought  but  age  and  dust, 
Which  in  the  dark  and  silent  grave, 
When  we  have  wandered  all  our  ways, 
Shuts  up  the  story  of  our  days  ; 
And  from  which  grave  and  earth  and  dust, 
The  Lord  shall  raise  me  up,  I  trust. 

Sometimes  it  takes  the  tone  of  a  lighter  melancholy 
touched  with  cynicism  : 


La  vie  est  vaine : 
Un  peu  d'amour, 

Un  peu  de  haine, 
Et  puis — bon  jour. 


330  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

La  vie  est  breve, 
Un  peu  d'espoir, 

Un  peu  de  reve, 
Et  puis — bon  soir.1 


There  are  few  sayings  which  deserve  better  to  be 
brought  continually  before  our  minds  than  that  of 
Franklin :  '  You  value  life ;  then  do  not  squander 
time,  for  time  is  the  stuff  of  life/  Of  all  the  things 
that  are  bestowed  on  men,  none  is  more  valuable,  but 
none  is  more  unequally  used,  and  the  true  measure- 
ment of  life  should  be  found  less  in  its  duration  than 
in  the  amount  that  is  put  into  it.  The  waste  of  time 
is  one  of  the  oldest  of  commonplaces,  but  it  is  one  of 
those  which  are  never  really  stale.  How  much  of  the 
precious  '  stuff  of  life '  is  wasted  by  want  of  punctu- 
ality ;  by  want  of  method  involving  superfluous  and 
repeated  effort ;  by  want  of  measure  prolonging 
things  that  are  pleasurable  or  profitable  in  moderation 
to  the  point  of  weariness,  satiety,  and  extravagance ; 
by  want  of  selection  dwelling  too  much  on  the  useless 
or  the  unimportant ;  by  want  of  intensity,  growing 
out  of  a  nature  that  is  listless  and  apathetic  both  in 
work  and  pleasure.  Time  is,  in  one  sense,  the  most 
elastic  of  things.  It  is  one  of  the  commonest  experi- 
ences that  the  busiest  men  find  most  of  it  for  excep- 
tional work,  and  often  a  man  who,  under  the  strong 
stimulus  of  an  active  professional  life,  repines  bitterly 
that  he  finds  so  little  time  for  pursuing  some  favourite 
work  or  study,  discovers,  to  his  own  surprise,  that 
when  circumstances  have  placed  all  his  time  at  his 
disposal  he  does  less  in  this  field  than  in  the  hard- 
1  Monte-Naken. 


INCREASE  OF  LIFE  331 

earned  intervals  of  a  crowded  life.  The  art  of  wisely 
using  the  spare  five  minutes,  the  casual  vacancies  or 
intervals  of  life,  is  one  of  the  most  valuable  we  can 
acquire.  There  are  lives  in  which  the  main  preoccu- 
pation is  to  get  through  time.  There  are  others  in 
which  it  is  to  find  time  for  all  that  has  to  be  got 
through,  and  most  men,  in  different  periods  of  their 
lives,  are  acquainted  with  both  extremes.  With  some, 
time  is  mere  duration,  a  blank,  featureless  thing, 
gliding  swiftly  and  insensibly  by.  With  others  every 
day,  and  almost  every  hour,  seems  to  have  its  distinc- 
tive stamp  and  character,  for  good  or  ill,  in  work  or 
pleasure.  There  are  vast  differences  in  this  respect 
between  different  ages  of  history,  and  between  differ- 
ent generations  in  the  same  country,  between  town 
and  country  life,  and  between  different  countries. 
1  Better  fifty  years  of  Europe  than  a  cycle  of  Cathay ' 
is  profoundly  true,  and  no  traveller  can  fail  to  be 
insensible  to  the  difference  in  the  value  of  time  in  a 
Northern  and  in  a  Southern  country.  The  leisure  of 
some  nations  seems  busier  than  the  work  of  others, 
and  few  things  are  more  resting  to  an  overwrought 
and  jaded  Anglo-Saxon  nature  than  to  pass  for  a  short 
season  into  one  of  those  countries  where  time  seems 
almost  without  value. 

On  the  whole  there  can  be  little  doubt  that  life  in 
the  more  civilised  nations  has,  in  our  own  generation, 
largely  increased.  It  is  not  simply  that  its  average 
duration  is  extended.  This,  in  a  large  degree,  is  due 
to  the  diminished  amount  of  infant  mortality.  The 
improvement  is  shown  more  conclusively  in  the  in- 
creased commonness  of  vigorous  and  active  old  age, 


382  THE 

in  the  multitude  of  new  contrivances  for  economising 
and  therefore  increasing  time,  in  the  far  greater  in- 
tensity of  life  both  in  the  forms  of  work  and  in  the 
forms  of  pleasure.  'Life  at  high  pressure'  is  not 
without  its  drawbacks  and  its  evils,  but  it  at  least 
means  life  which  is  largely  and  fully  used. 

All  intermissions  of  work,  however,  even  when  they 
do  not  take  the  form  of  positive  pleasure,  are  not 
waste  of  time.  Overwork,  in  all  departments  of  life, 
is  commonly  bad  economy,  not  so  much  because  it 
often  breaks  down  health — most  of  what  is  attributed 
to  this  cause  is  probably  rather  due  to  anxiety  than  to 
work — as  because  it  seldom  fails  to  impair  the  quality 
of  work.  A  great  portion  of  our  lives  passes  in  the 
unconsciousness  of  sleep,  and  perhaps  no  part  is  more 
usefully  spent.  It  not  only  brings  with  it  the  restora- 
tion of  our  physical  energies,  but  it  also  gives  a  true 
and  healthy  tone  to  our  moral  nature.  Of  all  earthly 
things  sleep  does  the  most  to  place  things  in  their  true 
proportions,  calming  excited  nerves  and  dispelling 
exaggerated  cares.  How  many  suicides  have  been 
averted,  how  many  rash  enterprises  and  decisions  have 
been  prevented,  how  many  dangerous  quarrels  have 
been  allayed,  by  the  soothing  influence  of  a  few  hours 
of  steady  sleep  !  '  Sleep  that  knits  up  the  ravellM 
sleeve  of  care '  is,  indeed,  in  a  careworn  world,  one  of 
the  chief  of  blessings.  Its  healing  and  restorative 
power  is  as  much  felt  in  the  sicknesses  of  the  mind  as 
in  those  of  the  body,  and,  in  spite  of  the  authority  of 
Solomon,  it  is  probably  a  wise  thing  for  men  to  take 
the  full  measure  of  it,  which  undoctored  nature  de- 
mands. The  true  waste  of  time  of  the  sluggard  is  not 


SLEEP  333 

in  the  amount  of  natural  sleep  lie  enjoys,  but  in  the 
time  idly  spent  in  bed  when  sleep  has  ceased,  and  in 
misplaced  and  mistimed  sleep,  which  is  not  due  to  any 
genuine  craving  of  the  body  for  rest,  but  simply  to 
mental  sluggishness,  to  lack  of  interest  and  attention. 
Some  men  have  claimed  for  sleep  even  more  than 
this.  '  The  night-time  of  the  body/  an  ancient  writer 
has  said,  '  is  the  day-time  of  the  soul/  and  some,  who 
do  not  absolutely  hold  the  old  belief  that  it  is  in  the 
dreams  of  the  night  that  the  Divine  Spirit  most  com- 
municates with  man,  have,  nevertheless,  believed  that 
the  complete  withdrawal  of  our  minds  from  those 
worldly  cares  which  haunt  our  waking  hours  and  do 
so  much  to  materialise  and  harden  our  natures  is  one 
of  the  first  conditions  of  a  higher  life.  *  In  propor- 
tion/ said  Swedenborg,  '  as  the  mind  is  capable  of 
being  withdrawn  from  things  sensual  and  corporeal, 
in  the  same  proportion  it  is  elevated  into  things  celes- 
tial and  spiritual/  It  has  been  noticed  that  often 
thoughts  and  judgments,  scattered  and  entangled  in 
our  evening  hours,  seem  sifted,  clarified,  and  ar- 
ranged in  sleep ;  that  problems  which  seemed  hope- 
lessly confused  when  we  lay  down  are  at  once  and 
easily  solved  when  we  awake,  'as  though  a  reason 
more  perfect  than  reason  had  been  at  work  when  we 
were  in  our  beds/  Something  analogous  to  this,  it 
has  been  contended,  takes  place  in  our  moral  natures. 
'  A  process  is  going  on  in  us  during  those  hours  which 
is  not,  and  cannot  be,  brought  so  effectually,  if  at  all, 
at  any  other  time,  and  we  are  spiritually  growing, 
developing,  ripening  more  continuously  while  thus 
shielded  from  the  distracting  influences  of  the  pheno- 


334  THE 

menal  world  than  during  the  hours  in  which  we  are 
absorbed  in  them.  ...  Is  it  not  precisely  the  func- 
tion of  sleep  to  give  us  for  a  portion  of  every  day  in 
our  lives  a  respite  from  worldly  influences  which,  un- 
interrupted, would  deprive  us  of  the  instruction,  of 
the  spiritual  reinforcements,  necessary  to  qualify  us 
to  turn  our  waking  experiences  of  the  world  to  the 
best  account  without  being  overcome  by  them  ?  It  is 
in  these  hours  that  the  plans  and  ambitions  of  our  ex- 
ternal worldly  life  cease  to  interfere  with  or  obstruct 
the  flow  of  the  Divine  life  into  the  will.' 1 

Without,  however,  following  this  train  of  thought, 
it  is  at  least  sufficiently  clear  that  no  small  portion  of 
the  happiness  of  life  depends  upon  our  sleeping  hours. 
Plato  has  exhorted  men  to  observe  carefully  their 
dreams  as  indicating  their  natural  dispositions,  ten- 
dencies, and  temptations,  and — perhaps  with  more 
reason — Burton  and  Franklin  have  proposed  '  the  art 
of  procuring  pleasant  dreams '  as  one  of  the  great, 
though  little  recognised,  branches  of  the  science  of 
life.  This  is,  no  doubt,  mainly  a  question  of  diet, 
exercise,  efficient  ventilation,  and  a  wise  distribution 
of  hours,  but  it  is  also  largely  influenced  by  moral 
causes. 

Somnia  quse  mentes  ludunt  volitantibus  umbris, 
Nee  delubra  deum,  nee  ab  aethere  numina  mittunt, 
Sed  sibi  quisque  f  acit. 

To  appease  the  perturbations  of  the  mind,  to  live  a 
tranquil,  upright,  unremorseful  life,  to  cultivate  the 

1  See  Tht  Mystery  of  Sleep,  by  John  Bigelow. 


INEQUALITIES  OF  TIME  335 

*v 

power  of  governing  by  the  will  the  current  of  our 
thoughts,  repressing  unruly  passions,  exaggerated  anxi- 
eties, and  unhealthy  desires,  is  at  least  one  great 
recipe  for  banishing  from  our  pillows  those  painful 
dreams  that  contribute  not  a  little  to  the  unhappiness 
of  many  lives. 

An  analogous  branch  of  self-culture  is  that  which 
seeks  to  provide  some  healthy  aliment  for  the  waking 
hours  of  the  night,  when  time  seems  so  unnaturally 
prolonged,  and  when  gloomy  thoughts  and  exaggerated 
and  distempered  views  of  the  trials  of  life  peculiarly 
prevail.  Among  the  ways  in  which  education  may 
conduce  to  the  real  happiness  of  man,  its  power  of 
supplying  pleasant  or  soothing  thoughts  for  those 
dreary  hours  is  not  the  least,  though  it  is  seldom  or 
never  noticed  in  books  or  speeches.  It  is,  perhaps,  in 
this  respect  that  the  early  habit  of  committing  poetry 
— and  especially  religious  poetry — to  memory  is  most 
important. 

In  estimating  the  value  of  those  intermissions  of  la- 
bour which  are  not  spent  in  active  enjoyment  one  other 
consideration  may  be  noted.  There  are  times  when 
the  mind  should  lie  fallow,  and  all  who  have  lived  the 
intellectual  life  with  profit  have  perceived  that  it  is 
often  in  those  times  that  it  most  regains  the  elasticity 
it  may  have  lost  and  becomes  most  prolific  in  sponta- 
neous thought.  Many  periods  of  life  which  might  at 
first  sight  appear  to  be  merely  unused  time  are,  in 
truth,  among  the  most  really  valuable. 

We  have  all  noticed  the  curious  fact  of  the  extreme 
apparent  inequalities  of  time,  though  it  is,  in  its 
essence,  of  all  things  the  most  uniform.  Periods 


336  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

of  pain  or  acute  discomfort  seem  unnaturally  long, 
but  this  lengthening  of  time  is  fortunately  not  true  of 
all  the  melancholy  scenes  of  life,  nor  is  it  peculiar  to 
things  that  are  painful.  An  invalid  life  with  its 
almost  unbroken  monotony,  and  with  the  large 
measure  of  torpor  that  often  accompanies  it,  usually 
flies  very  quickly,  and  most  persons  must  have 
observed  how  the  first  week  of  travel,  or  of  some 
other  great  change  of  habits  and  pursuits,  though 
often  attended  with  keen  enjoyment,  appears  dis- 
proportionately long.  Eoutine  shortens  and  variety 
lengthens  time,  and  it  is  therefore  in  the'  power  of 
men  to  do  something  to  regulate  its  pace.  A  life  with 
many  landmarks,  a  life  which  is  much  subdivided 
when  those  subdivisions  are  not  of  the  same  kind,  and 
when  new  and  diverse  interests,  impressions,  and 
labours  follow  each  other  in  swift  and  distinct  succes- 
sion, seems  the  most  long,  and  youth,  with  its  keen 
susceptibility  to  impressions,  appears  to  move  much 
more  slowly  than  apathetic  old  age.  How  almost 
immeasurably  long  to  a  young  child  seems  the  period 
from  birthday  to  birthday  !  How  long  to  the  school- 
boy seems  the  interval  between  vacation  and  vacation  ! 
How  rapid  as  we  go  on  in  life  becomes  the  awful  beat 
of  each  recurring  year  !  When  the  feeling  of  novelty 
has  grown  rare,  and  when  interests  have  lost  their 
edge,  time  glides  by  with  an  ever-increasing  ce- 
lerity. Campbell  has  justly  noticed  as  a  beneficent 
provision  of  nature  that  it  is  in  the  period  of  life 
when  enjoyments  are  fewest,  and  infirmities  most 
numerous,  that  the  march  of  time  seems  most 
rapid. 


LIFE  LONG  ENOUGH  337 

The  more  we  live,  more  brief  appear 

Our  life's  succeeding  stages, 
A  day  to  childhood  seems  a  year, 

And  years  like  passing  ages. 

When  Joys  have  lost  their  bloom  and  breath, 

And  life  itself  is  vapid, 
Why  as  we  reach  the  Falls  of  death 

Feel  we  its  tide  more  rapid  ? 

Heaven  gives  our  years  of  fading  strength 

Indemnifying  fleetness  ; 
And  those  of  youth  a  seeming  length 

Proportioned  to  their  sweetness. 

The  shortness  of  life  is  one  of  the  commonplaces  of 
literature.  Yet  though  we  may  easily  conceive  beings 
with  faculties  both  of  mind  and  body  adapted  to  a  far 
longer  life  than  ours,  it  will  usually  be  found,  with 
our  existing  powers,  that  life,  if  not  prematurely 
shortened,  is  long  enough.  In  the  case  of  men  who 
have  played  a  great  part  in  public  affairs,  the  best 
work  is  nearly  always  done  before  old  age.  It  is  a 
remarkable  fact  that  although  a  Senate,  by  its 
very  derivation,  means  an  assembly  of  old  men,  and 
although  in  the  Senate  of  Rome,  which  was  the 
greatest  of  all,  the  members  sat  for  life,  there  was  a 
special  law  providing  that  no  Senator,  after  sixty, 
should  be  summoned  to  attend  his  duty.1  In  the  past 
centuries  active  septuagenarian  statesmen  were  very 
rare,  and  in  parliamentary  life  almost  unknown.  In 
our  own  century  there  have  been  brilliant  exceptions, 


1  Seneca,  de  Brevitate  Vita,  cap.  ix. 
22 


338  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

but  in  most  cases  it  will  be  found  that  the  true  glory 
of  these  statesmen  rests  on  what  they  had  done  before 
old  age,  and  sometimes  the  undue  prolongation  of 
their  active  lives  has  been  a  grave  misfortune,  not  only 
to  their  own  reputations,  but  also  to  the  nations  they 
influenced.  Often,  indeed,  while  faculties  diminish, 
self-confidence,  even  in  good  men,  increases.  Moral 
and  intellectual  failings  that  had  been  formerly  re- 
pressed take  root  and  spread,  and  it  is  no  small  bless- 
ing that  they  have  but  a  short  time  to  run  their 
course.  In  the  case  of  men  of  great  capacities  the 
follies  of  age  are  perhaps  even  more  to  be  feared  than 
the  follies  of  youth.  "When  men  have  made  a  great 
reputation  and  acquired  a  great  authority,  when  they 
become  the  objects  of  the  flattery  of  nations,  and 
when  they  can,  with  little  trouble  or  thought  or 
study,  attract  universal  attention,  a  new  set  of  temp- 
tations begins.  Their  heads  are  apt  to  be  turned.  The 
feeling  of  responsibility  grows  weaker ;  the  old  judg- 
ment, caution,  deliberation,  self-restraint,  and  timidity 
disappear.  Obstinacy  and  prejudice  strengthen,  while 
at  the  same  time  the  force  of  the  reasoning  will  dimi- 
nishes. Sometimes,  through  a  failing  that  is  partly 
intellectual,  but  partly  also  moral,  they  almost  wholly 
lose  the  power  of  realising  or  recognising  new  condi- 
tions, discoveries  and  necessities.  They  view  with 
jealousy  the  rise  of  new  reputations  and  of  younger 
men,  and  the  well-earned  authority  of  an  old  man 
becomes  the  most  formidable  obstacle  to  improvement. 
In  the  field  of  politics,  in  the  field  of  science,  and  in 
the  field  of  military  organisation,  these  truths  might 
be  abundantly  illustrated.  In  the  case  of  great  but 


LIFE  OFTEN  TOO  LONG  339 

maleficent  genius  the  shortness  of  life  is  a  priceless 
blessing.  Few  greater  curses  could  be  imagined  for 
the  human  race  than  the  prolongation  for  centuries  of 
the  life  of  Napoleon. 

In  literature  also  the  same  law  may  be  detected.  A 
writer's  best  thoughts  are  usually  expressed  long  be- 
fore extreme  old  age,  though  the  habit  and  desire  of 
production  continue.  The  time  of  repetition,  of  diluted 
force,  and  of  weakened  judgment — the  age  when  the 
mind  has  lost  its  flexibility  and  can  no  longer  assimi- 
late new  ideas  or  keep  pace  with  the  changing  modes 
and  tendencies  of  another  generation — often  sets  in 
while  physical  life  is  but  little  enfeebled.  In  this 
case,  it  is  true,  the  evil  is  not  very  great,  for  Time 
may  be  trusted  to  sift  the  chaff  from  the  wheat,  and 
though  it  may  not  preserve  the  one  it  will  infallibly 
discard  the  other.  '  "While  I  live/  Victor  Hugo  said 
with  some  grandiloquence,  but  also  with  some  justice, 
( it  is  my  duty  to  produce.  It  is  the  duty  of  the  world  to 
select,  from  what  I  produce,  that  which  is  worth 
keeping.  The  world  will  discharge  its  duty.  I  shall 
discharge  mine/  At  the  same  time,  no  one  can  have 
failed  to  observe  how  much  in  our  own  generation  the 
long  silence  of  Newman  in  his  old  age  added  to  his 
dignity  and  his  reputation,  and  the  same  thing  might 
have  been  said  of  Carlyle  if  a  beneficent  fire  had  de- 
stroyed the  unrevised  manuscripts  which  he  wrote  or 
dictated  when  a  very  old  man. 

We  are  here,  however,  dealing  with  great  labours, 
and  with  men  who  are  filling  a  great  place  in  the 
world's  strife.  The  decay  of  faculty  and  will,  that 
impairs  power  in  these  cases,  is  often  perceptible  long 


340  THE  MAP  OF 

before  there  is  any  real  decay  in  the  powers  that  are 
needed  for  ordinary  business  or  for  the  full  enjoyment 
of  life.  But  the  time  comes  when  children  have 
grown  into  maturity,  and  when  it  becomes  desirable 
that  a  younger  generation  should  take  the  govern- 
ment of  the  world,  should  inherit  its  wealth,  its  power, 
its  dignities,  its  many  means  of  influence  and  enjoy- 
ment ;  and  this  cannot  be  fully  done  till  the  older 
generation  is  laid  to  rest.  Often,  indeed,  old  age, 
when  it  is  free  from  grave  infirmities  and  from  great 
trials  and  privations,  is  the  most  honoured,  the  most 
tranquil,  and  perhaps  on  the  whole  the  happiest  period 
of  life.  The  struggles,  passions,  and  ambitions  of 
other  days  have  passed.  The  mellowing  touch  of  time 
has  allayed  animosities,  subdued  old  asperities  of 
character,  given  a  larger  and  more  tolerant  judg- 
ment, cured  the  morbid  sensitiveness  that  most  em- 
bitters life.  The  old  man's  mind  is  stored  with 
the  memories  of  a  well-filled  and  honourable  life. 
In  the  long  leisures  that  now  fall  to  his  lot  he 
is  often  enabled  to  resume  projects  which  in  a 
crowded  professional  life  he  had  been  obliged  to  ad- 
journ ;  he  finds  (as  Adam  Smith  has  said)  that  one 
of  the  greatest  pleasures  in  life  is  reverting  in  old  age 
to  the  studies  of  youth,  and  he  himself  often  feels 
something  of  the  thrill  of  a  second  youth  in  his  sym- 
pathy with  the  children  who  are  around  him.  It  is 
the  St.  Martin's  summer,  lighting  with  a  pale  but 
beautiful  gleam  the  brief  November  day.  But  the 
time  must  come  when  all  the  alternatives  of  life  are 
sad,  and  the  least  sad  is  a  speedy  and  painless  end. 
When  the  eye  has  ceased  to  see  and  the  ear  to  hear, 


OLD  AGE  341 

when  the  mind  has  failed  and  all  the  friends  of  youth 
are  gone,  and  the  old  man's  life  becomes  a  burden  not 
only  to  himself  but  to  those  about  him,  it  is  far  better 
that  he  should  quit  the  scene.  If  a  natural  clinging 
to  life,  or  a  natural  shrinking  from  death,  prevents 
him  from  clearly  realising  this,  it  is  at  least  fully  seen 
by  all  others. 

Nor,  indeed,  does  this  love  of  life  in  most  cases  of 
extreme  old  age  greatly  persist.  Few  things  are  sad- 
der than  to  see  the  young,  or  those  in  mature  life, 
seeking,  according  to  the  current  phrase,  to  find  means 
of  "killing  time."  But  in  extreme  old  age,  when  the 
power  of  work,  the  power  of  reading,  the  pleasures  of 
society,  have  gone,  this  phrase  acquires  a  new  signifi- 
cance. As  Madame  de  Stael  has  beautifully  said, 
'  On  depose  fleur  a  fleur  la  couronne  de  la  vie/  An 
apathy  steals  over  every  faculty,  and  rest — unbroken 
rest — becomes  the  chief  desire.  I  remember  a  touch- 
ing epitaph  in  a  German  churchyard  :  '  I  will  arise, 
0  Christ,  when  Thou  callest  me ;  but  oh  !  let  me 
rest  awhile,  for  I  am  very  weary/ 

After  all  that  can  be  said,  most  men  are  reluctant 
to  look  Time  in  the  face.  The  close  of  the  year  or  a 
birthday  is  to  them  merely  a  time  of  revelry,  into 
which  they  enter  in  order  to  turn  away  from  depress- 
ing thought.  They  shrink  from  what  seems  to  them 
the  dreary  truth,  that  they  are  drifting  to  a  dark 
abyss.  To  many  the  milestones  along  the  path  of 
life  are  tombstones,  every  epoch  being  mainly  as- 
sociated in  their  memories  with  a  death.  To  some, 
past  time  is  nothing — a  closed  chapter  never  to  be 
reopened. 


342  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

The  past  is  nothing,  and  at  last, 
The  future  can  but  be  the  past. 

To  others,  the  thought  of  the  work  achieved  in  the 
vanished  years  is  the  most  real  and  abiding  of  their 
possessions.  They  can  feel  the  force  of  the  noble 
lines  of  Dryden  : 

Not  Heaven  itself  upon  the  past  has  power, 

But  what  has  been  has  been,  and  I  have  had  my  hour. 

He  who  would  look  Time  in  the  face  without  illu- 
sion and  without  fear  should  associate  each  year  as  it 
passes  with  new  developments  of  his  nature  ;  with 
duties  accomplished,  with  work  performed.  To  fill 
the  time  allotted  to  us  to  the  brim  with  action  and 
with  thought  is  the  only  way  in  which  we  can  learn  to 
watch  its  passage  with  equanimity. 


PAGAN  VIEW  OF  DEATH.  343 


CHAPTER  XVII 

'THE 


IT  is  easy  to  conceive  circumstances  not  widely  different 
from  those  of  actual  life  that  would,  if  not  altogether, 
at  least  very  largely,  take  from  death  the  gloom  that 
commonly  surrounds  it.  If  all  the  members  of  the 
human  race  died  either  before  two  or  after  seventy  ;  if 
death  was  in  all  cases  the  swift  and  painless  thing  that 
it  is  with  many  ;  and  if  the  old  man  always  left  behind 
him  children  to  perpetuate  his  name,  his  memory,  and 
his  thoughts,  Death,  though  it  might  still  seem  a  sad 
thing,  would  certainly  not  excite  the  feelings  it  now  so 
often  produces.  Of  all  the  events  that  befall  us,  it  is 
that  which  owes  most  of  its  horror  not  to  itself,  but  to 
its  accessories,  its  associations,  and  to  the  imaginations 
that  cluster  around  it.  'Death/  indeed,  as  a  great 
stoical  moralist  said,  f  is  the  only  evil  that  can  never 
touch  us.  When  we  are,  death  is  not.  When  death 
comes,  we  are  not.' 

The  composition  of  treatises  of  consolation  intended 
to  accustom  men  to  contemplate  death  without  terror 
was  one  of  the  favourite  exercises  of  the  philosophers 
in  the  Augustan  and  in  the  subsequent  periods  of 
Pagan  Borne.  The  chapter  which  Cicero  has  devoted 
to  this  subject  in  his  treatise  on  old  age  is  a  beautiful 


344  THE  MAP  OF 

example  of  how  it  appeared  to  a  virtuous  pagan,  who 
believed  in  a  future  life  which  would  bring  him  into 
communion  with  those  whom  he  had  loved  and  lost  on 
earth,  but  who  at  the  same  time  recognised  this  only 
as  a  probability,  not  a  certainty.  "  Death/'  he  said, 
'  is  an  event  either  utterly  to  be  disregarded  if  it  extin- 
guish the  soul's  existence,  or  much  to  be  wished  if 
it  convey  her  to  some  region  where  she  shall  continue 
to  exist  for  ever.  One  of  these  two  consequences  must 
necessarily  follow  the  disunion  of  soul  and  body ;  there 
is  no  other  possible  alternative.  What  then  have  I  to 
fear  if  after  death  I  shall  either  not  be  miserable  or 
shall  certainly  be  happy  ? ' 

Vague  notions,  however,  of  a  dim,  twilight,  shadowy 
world  where  the  ghosts  of  the  dead  lived  a  faint  and 
joyless  existence,  and  whence  they  sometimes  returned 
to  haunt  the  living  in  their  dreams,  were  widely  spread 
through  the  popular  imaginations,  and  it  was  as  the 
extinction  of  all  superstitious  fears  that  the  school 
of  Lucretius  and  Pliny  welcomed  the  belief  that  all 
things  ended  with  death — *  Post  mortem  nihil  est, 
ipsaque  more  nihil.'  Nor  is  it  by  any  means  certain 
that  even  in  the  school  of  Plato  the  thought  of  another 
life  had  a  great  and  operative  influence  on  minds  and 
characters.  Death  was  chiefly  represented  as  rest;  ae 
the  close  of  a  banquet;  as  the  universal  law  of  nature 
which  befalls  all  living  beings,  though  the  immense 
majority  encounter  it  at  an  earlier  period  than  man. 
It  was  thought  of  simply  as  sleep — dreamless,  un- 
disturbed sleep— the  final  release  from  all  the  sor- 
rows, sufferings,  anxieties,  labours,  and  longings  of 
life. 


EARLY  CHRISTIAN  IDEAS  OF  DEATH  345 

We  are  such  stuff 

As  dreams  are  made  on,  and  our  little  life 
Is  rounded  with  a  sleep.1 

The  best  of  rest  is  sleep, 

And  that  thou  oft  provok'st ;  yet  grossly  fear'st 
Thy  death,  which  is  no  more.9 

To  die  is  landing  on  some  silent  shore 

Where  billows  never  break,  nor  tempests  roar.* 

It  is  a  strange  thing  to  observe  to  what  a  height  not 
only  of  moral  excellence,  but  also  of  devotional  fervour, 
men  have  arisen  without  any  assistance  from  the  doc- 
trine of  a  future  life.  Only  the  faintest  and  most 
dubious  glimmer  of  such  a  belief  can  be  traced  in  the 
Psalms,  in  which  countless  generations  of  Christians 
have  found  the  fullest  expression  of  their  devotional 
feelings,  or  in  the  Meditations  of  Marcus  Aurelius, 
which  are  perhaps  the  purest  product  of  pagan  piety. 

As  I  have  already  said,  I  am  endeavouring  in  this 
book  to  steer  clear  of  questions  of  contested  theologies; 
but  it  is  impossible  to  avoid  noticing  the  great  changes 
that  have  been  introduced  into  the  conception  of  death 
by  some  of  the  teaching  which  in  different  forms  has 
grown  up  under  the  name  of  Christianity,  though  much 
of  it  may  be  traced  in  germ  to  earlier  periods  of  human 
development.  Death  in  itself  was  made  incomparably 
more  terrible  by  the  notion  that  it  was  not  a  law  but 
a  punishment ;  that  sufferings  inconceivably  greater 
than  those  of  Earth  awaited  the  great  masses  of  the 


1  The  Tempest.  *  Measure  for  Measure.  *  Garth. 


346  THE  MAp  OF  LIFE 

human  race  beyond  the  grave ;  that  an  event  which  was 
believed  to  have  taken  place  ages  before  we  were  born, 
or  small  frailties  such  as  the  best  of  us  cannot  escape, 
were  sufficient  to  bring  men  under  this  condemnation; 
that  the  only  paths  to  safety  were  to  be  found  in  eccle- 
siastical ceremonies;  in  the  assistance  of  priests;  in  an 
accurate  choice  among  competing  theological  doctrines. 
At  the  same  time  the  largest  and  most  powerful  of  the 
Churches  of  Christendom  has,  during  many  centuries, 
done  its  utmost  to  intensify  the  natural  fear  of  death 
by  associating  it  in  the  imaginations  of  men  with  loath- 
some images  and  appalling  surroundings.  There  can 
be  no  greater  contrast  than  that  between  the  Greek 
tomb  with  its  garlands  of  flowers,  its  bright,  youthful 
and  restful  imagery,  and  the  mortuary  chapels  that 
may  often  be  found  in  Catholic  countries,  with  their 
ghastly  pictures  of  the  saved  souls  writhing  in  purga- 
torial flames,  while  the  inscription  above  and  the  money- 
box below  point  out  the  one  means  of  alleviating  their 
lot. 

Fermati,  O  Passagiero,  mira  tormenti. 
Siamo  abbandonati  dai  nostri  parent!. 
Di  noi  abbiate  pieta,  o  voi  amici  cari. 

This  is  one  side  of  the  picture.  On  the  other  hand 
it  cannot  be  questioned  that  the  strong  convictions  and 
impressive  ceremonies,  even  of  the  most  superstitious 
faith,  have  consoled  and  strengthened  multitudes  in 
their  last  moments,  and  in  the  purer  and  more  enlight- 
ened forms  of  Christianity  death  now  wears  a  very  dif- 
ferent aspect  from  what  it  did  in  the  teaching  of  medi- 
aeval Catholicism,  or  of  some  of  the  sects  that  grew 


THE  DESIRE  FOB  IMMORTALITY  347 

out  of  the  Keformation.  Human  life  ending  in  the 
weakness  of  old  age  and  in  the  corruption  of  the  tomb 
will  always  seem  a  humiliating  anti-climax,  and  often 
a  hideous  injustice.  The  belief  in  the  rightful  supre- 
macy of  conscience,  and  in  an  eternal  moral  law  re- 
dressing the  many  wrongs  and  injustices  of  life,  and 
securing  the  ultimate  triumph  of  good  over  evil;  the 
incapacity  of  earth  and  earthly  things  to  satisfy  our 
cravings  and  ideals;  the  instinctive  revolt  of  human 
nature  against  the  idea  of  annihilation,  and  its  capacity 
for  affections  and  attachments,  which  seem  by  their  in- 
tensity to  transcend  the  limits  of  earth  and  carry  with 
them  in  moments  of  bereavement  a  persuasion  or  con- 
viction of  something  that  endures  beyond  the  grave, — 
all  these  things  have  found  in  Christian  beliefs  a  sanc- 
tion and  a  satisfaction  that  men  had  failed  to  find  in 
Socrates  or  Cicero,  or  in  the  vague  Pantheism  to  which 
unassisted  reason  naturally  inclines. 

Looking,  however,  on  death  in  its  purely  human 
aspects,  the  mourner  should  consider  how  often  in  a 
long  illness  he  wished  the  dying  man  could  sleep;  how 
consoling  to  his  mind  was  the  thought  of  every  hour  of 
peaceful  rest;  of  every  hour  in  which  the  patient  was 
withdrawn  from  consciousness,  insensible  to  suffering, 
removed  for  a  time  from  the  miseries  of  a  dying  life. 
He  should  ask  himself  whether  these  intervals  of  insen- 
sibility were  not  on  the  whole  the  happiest  in  the  illness 
— those  which  he  would  most  have  wished  to  multiply 
or  to  prolong.  He  should  accustom  himself,  then,  to 
think  of  death  as  sleep — undisturbed  sleep — the  only 
sleep  from  which  man  never  wakes  to  pain. 

You  find  yourself  in  the  presence  of  what  is  a  far 


348  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

deeper  and  more  poignant  trial  than  an  old  man's  death 
— a  young  life  cut  off  in  its  prime;  the  eclipse  of  a  sun 
before  the  evening  has  arrived.  Accustom  yourself  to 
consider  the  life  that  has  passed  as  a  whole.  A  human 
being  has  been  called  into  the  world — has  lived  in  it 
ten,  twenty,  thirty  years.  It  seems  to  you  an  intoler- 
able instance  of  the  injustice  of  fate  that  he  is  so  early 
cut  off.  Estimate,  then,  that  life  as  a  whole,  and  ask 
yourself  whether,  so  judged,  it  has  been  a  blessing  or 
the  reverse.  Count  up  the  years  of  happiness.  Count 
up  the  days,  or  perhaps  weeks,  of  illness  and  of  pain. 
Measure  the  happiness  that  this  short  life  has  given  to 
some  who  have  passed  away-;  who  never  lived  to  see  its 
early  close.  Balance  the  happiness  which  during  its 
existence  it  gave  to  those  who  survived,  with  the  poig- 
nancy and  the  duration  of  pain  caused  by  the  loss. 
Here,  for  example,  is  one  who  lived  perhaps  twenty-five 
years  in  health  and  vigour;  whose  life  during  that  period 
was  chequered  by  no  serious  misfortune;  whose  nature, 
though  from  time  to  time  clouded  by  petty  anxieties 
and  cares,  was  on  the  whole  bright,  buoyant,  and 
happy;  who  had  the  capacity  of  vivid  enjoyment  and 
many  opportunities  of  attaining  it ;  who  felt  all  the 
thrill  of  health  and  friendship  and  ecstatic  pleasure. 
Then  came  a  change, — a  year  or  two  with  a  crippled 
wing — life,  though  not  abjectly  wretched,  on  the  whole 
a  burden,  and  then  the  end.  You  can  easily  conceive — 
you  can  ardently  desire — a  better  lot,  but  judge  fairly 
the  lights  and  shades  of  what  has  been.  Does  not  the 
happiness  on  the  whole  exceed  the  evil  ?  Can  you  ho- 
nestly say  that  this  life  has  been  a  curse  and  not  a  bless- 
ing ? — that  it  would  have  been  better  if  it  had  never 


PREMATURE  DEATH  349 

been  called  out  of  nothingness? — that  it  would  have 
been  better  if  the  drama  had  never  been  played  ?  It  is 
over  now.  As  you  lay  in  his  last  home  the  object  of  so 
much  love,  ask  yourself  whether,  even  in  a  mere  human 
point  of  view,  this  parenthesis  between  two  darknesses 
has  not  been  on  the  whole  productive  of  more  happi- 
ness than  pain  to  him  and  to  those  around  him. 

It  was  an  ancient  saying  that '  he  whom  the  gods  love 
dies  young,'  and  more  than  one  legend  representing 
speedy  and  painless  death  as  the  greatest  of  blessings 
has  descended  to  us  from  pagan  antiquity;  while  other 
legends,  like  that  of  Tithonus,  anticipated  the  picture 
which  Swift  has  so  powerfully  but  so  repulsively  drawn 
of  the  misery  of  old  age  and  its  infirmities,  if  death  did 
not  come  as  a  release.  I  have  elsewhere  related  an  old 
Irish  legend  embodying  this  truth.  '  In  a  certain  lake 
in  Munster,  it  is  said,  there  were  two  islands;  into  the 
first  death  could  never  enter,  but  age  and  sickness,  and 
the  weariness  of  life  and  the  paroxysms  of  fearful  suf- 
fering were  all  known  there,  and  they  did  their  work 
till  the  inhabitants,  tired  of  their  immortality,  learned 
to  look  upon  the  opposite  island  as  upon  a  haven  of 
repose.  They  launched  their  barks  upon  its  gloomy 
waters;  they  touched  its  shore,  and  they  were  at  rest.' 1 

No  one,  however,  can  confidently  say  whether  an 
early  death  is  a  misfortune,  for  no  one  can  really  know 
what  calamities  would  have  befallen  the  dead  man  if 
his  life  had  been  prolonged.  How  often  does  it  happen 
that  the  children  of  a  dead  parent  do  things  or  suffer 


1  History  of  European  Morals,  i.  p.  203.    The  legend  is  related 
by  Camden. 


350  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

things  that  would  have  broken  his  heart  if  he  had  lived 
to  see  them!  How  often  do  painful  diseases  lurk  in 
germ  in  the  body  which  would  have  produced  unspeak- 
able misery  if  an  early  and  perhaps  a  painless  death 
had  not  anticipated  their  development !  How  often  do 
mistakes  and  misfortunes  cloud  the  evening  and  mar 
the  beauty  of  a  noble  life,  or  moral  infirmities,  unper- 
ceived  in  youth  or  early  manhood,  break  out  before  the 
day  is  over!  Who  is  there  who  has  not  often  said  to 
himself  as  he  looked  back  on  a  completed  life,  how 
much  happier  it  would  have  been  had  it  ended  sooner  ? 
'  Give  us  timely  death  '  is  in  truth  one  of  the  best 
prayers  that  man  can  pray.  Pain,  not  Death,  is  the 
real  enemy  to  be  combated,  and  in  this  combat,  at  least, 
man  can  do  much.  Few  men  can  have  lived  long  with- 
out realising  how  many  things  are  worse  than  death, 
and  how  many  knots  there  are  in  life  that  Death  alone 
can  untie. 

Remember,  above  all,  that  whatever  may  lie  beyond 
the  tomb,  the  tomb  itself  is  nothing  to  you.  The  nar- 
row prison-house,  the  gloomy  pomp,  the  hideousness 
of  decay,  are  known  to  the  living  and  the  living  alone. 
By  a  too  common  illusion  of  the  imagination,  men  pic- 
ture themselves  as  consciously  dead, — going  through  the 
process  of  corruption,  and  aware  of  it;  imprisoned  with 
the  knowledge  of  the  fact  in  the  most  hideous  of  dun- 
geons. Endeavour  earnestly  to  erase  this  illusion  from 
your  mind,  for  it  lies  at  the  root  of  the  fear  of  death, 
and  it  is  one  of  the  worst  sides  of  mediaeval  and  of  much 
modern  teaching  and  art  that  it  tends  to  strengthen  it. 
Nothing,  if  we  truly  realise  it,  is  less  real  than  the  grave. 
We  should  be  no  more  concerned  with  the  after  fate  of 


DEATH  FEARLESSLY  ENCOUNTERED  35! 

our  discarded  bodies  than  with  that  of  the  hair  which 
the  hair-cutter  has  cut  off.  The  sooner  they  are  resolved 
into  their  primitive  elements  the  better.  The  imagina- 
tion should  never  be  suffered  to  dwell  upon  their  decay. 
Bacon  has  justly  noticed  that  while  death  is  often 
regarded  as  the  supreme  evil,  there  is  no  human  passion 
that  does  not  become  so  powerful  as  to  lead  men  to  de- 
spise it.  It  is  not  in  the  waning  days  of  life,  but  in  the 
full  strength  of  youth,  that  men,  through  ambition  or 
the  mere  love  of  excitement,  fearlessly  and  joyously 
encounter  its  risk.  Encountered  in  hot  blood  it  is 
seldom  feared,  and  innumerable  accounts  of  ship- 
wrecks and  other  accidents,  and  many  episodes  in  every 
war,  show  conclusively  how  calmly  honour,  duty,  and 
discipline  can  enable  men  of  no  extraordinary  cha- 
racters, virtues,  or  attainments,  to  meet  it  even  when 
it  comes  before  them  suddenly,  as  an  inevitable  fact, 
and  without  any  of  that  excitement  which  might  blind 
their  eyes.  If  we  analyse  our  own  feelings  on  the  death 
of  those  we  love,  we  shall  probably  find  that,  except  in 
cases  where  life  is  prematurely  shortened  and  much  pro- 
mise cut  off,  pity  for  the  dead  person  is  rarely  a  marked 
element.  The  feelings  which  had  long  been  exclusively 
concentrated  on  the  sufferings  of  the  dying  man  take  a 
new  course  when  the  moment  of  death  arrives.  It  is 
the  sudden  blank;  the  separation  from  him  who  is  dear 
to  us;  the  cessation  of  the  long  reciprocity  of  love  and 
pleasure, — in  a  word  our  own  loss, — that  affects  us  then. 
'  A  happy  release '  is  perhaps  the  phrase  most  frequently 
beard  around  a  death-bed.  And  as  we  look  back 
Ihrough  the  vista  of  a  few  years,  and  have  learned  to 
separate  death  more  clearly  from  the  illness  that  pre- 


352  THE  MAP  OF  LIFE 

ceded  it,  the  sense  of  its  essential  peacefulness  and 
naturalness  grows  upon  us.  A  vanished  life  comes  to 
be  looked  upon  as  a  day  that  has  past,  but  leaving  many 
memories  behind  it. 

It  is,  I  think,  a  healthy  tendency  that  is  leading  men 
in  our  own  generation  to  turn  away  as  much  as  possible 
from  the  signs  and  the  contemplation  of  death.  The 
pomp  and  elaboration  of  funerals;  protracted  mourn- 
ings surrounding  us  with  the  gloom  of  an  ostentatious 
and  artificial  sorrow;  above  all,  the  long  suspension  of 
those  active  habits  which  nature  intended  to  be  the 
chief  medicine  of  grief,  are  things  which  at  least  in  the 
English-speaking  world  are  manifestly  declining.  We 
should  try  to  think  of  those  who  have  passed  away  as 
they  were  at  their  best,  and  not  in  sickness  or  in  decay. 
True  sorrow  needs  no  ostentation,  and  the  gloom  of 
death  no  artificial  enhancement.  Every  good  man, 
knowing  the  certainty  of  death  and  the  uncertainty  of 
its  hour,  will  make  it  one  of  his  first  duties  to  provide 
for  those  he  loves  when  he  has  himself  passed  away,  and 
to  do  all  in  his  power  to  make  the  period  of  bereavement 
as  easy  as  possible.  This  is  the  last  service  he  can  ren- 
der before  the  ranks  are  closed,  and  his  place  is  taken, 
and  the  days  of  forgetfulness  set  in.  In  careers  of  riot 
and  of  vice  the  thought  of  death  may  have  a  salutary 
restraining  influence;  but  in  a  useful,  busy,  well-ordered 
life  it  should  have  little  place.  It  was  not  the  Stoics 
alone  who  '  bestowed  too  much  cost  on  death,  and  by 
their  preparations  made  it  more  fearful. ' 1  As  Spinoza 
has  taught,  '  the  proper  study  of  a  wise  man  is  not  how 

1  Bacon. 


NOT  HOW  TO  DIE,   BUT  HOW  TO  LIVE  353 

to  die  but  how  to  live,'  and  as  long  as  he  is  discharging 
this  task  aright  he  may  leave  the  end  to  take  care  of 
itself.  The  great  guiding  landmarks  of  a  wise  life  are 
indeed  few  and  simple  ;  to  do  our  duty — to  avoid  use- 
less sorrow — to  acquiesce  patiently  in  the  inevitable. 


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